


Margaret Dashwood Comes of Age

by Riadasti



Series: Know Your Own Happiness [2]
Category: Sense and Sensibility (TV 2008), Sense and Sensibility - All Media Types, Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
Genre: F/M, Family Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Light-Hearted, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:07:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28724829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riadasti/pseuds/Riadasti
Summary: Margaret Dashwood was a sprightly young woman of seventeen. Though she despised the description "young woman," she had grown to accept that one couldn’t be a carefree child forever. Unfortunately, the pressures of adulthood loomed swifter than she had anticipated.
Relationships: Colonel Brandon/Marianne Dashwood, Elinor Dashwood/Edward Ferrars, Margaret Dashwood/Original Character(s)
Series: Know Your Own Happiness [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2107797
Comments: 13
Kudos: 20





	1. The Sun Won't Last Forever

**Author's Note:**

> I recently wrote a story following the courtship of Marianne and Colonel Brandon entitled the True Romantic, and I was inspired to follow Margaret's story. She hardly gets any screen time, but I always wondered what her life was like once her two older sisters were married. No doubt she would move into adulthood kicking and screaming. Let me know what you think!

Margaret Dashwood was a sprightly young woman of seventeen. Though she despised the description "young woman," she had grown to accept that one couldn’t be a carefree child forever. Unfortunately, the pressures of adulthood loomed swifter than she had anticipated.

It wasn't as though she had _no_ hopes or plans for the future. It was simply that she was not yet ready to resign herself to the same fate as her two older sisters. 

"They are trapped in their marriages with no sense of adventure or freedom, mama!" She lamented one afternoon.

Mrs. Dashwood offered her a sympathetic hum in reply. She always felt her daughters should be allowed to form their own opinions, but in this instance she felt some slight correction was necessary.

"Did not Marianne and the Colonel just return from a trip to the seaside? And what about Elinor and Edward's trip to London with Mrs. Jennings?

"Well, yes," Meg admitted, reluctantly. But she was determined on the subject. "Traveling is indeed an adventure. What I mean is that they are forever tied to their husbands. Their worth is wrapped up in their status as wives and mothers."

Mrs. Dashwood considered this a moment. "My dear, your idea of marriage is, if I may say, a bit antiquated. We are not shackled to our husbands. Elinor is free to pursue her artwork in her free time, and Marianne has given many concerts and has traveled as well."

Meg frowned at this. Mrs. Dashwood reached across the table and clasped her daughter's hand.

"It is not the marriage itself that dictates your level of liberty. Yes, there are societal pressures and expectations, but ultimately, it is whom you decide to marry that is important. Elinor and Marianne are blessed with husbands who support their enterprises outside of being mothers and helping to manage a household. If you remember, your father urged me to pursue dressmaking."

Meg sighed, allowing her mother's words to sink in.

"I admit I am still not very good at it," Mrs. Dashwood added with a soft smile. "But choose wisely and you will be content with a partner in life, not just a spouse."

Meg wanted to argue that perhaps she did not wish to be married. But she knew this would be false. In her heart of hearts, she longed to find her partner. She had simply not met anyone that had turned her head.

Sir John and Lady Middleton had four children, but they were all considerably younger than Meg. They were also as brash and loud as their father and mother-in-law that she could hardly stand their company. In terms of exposure to young men, she found she had very little opportunity in the countryside. Mrs. Jennings had offered to take Meg to London to enter into Society, but she had declined on the auspice of being too young at sixteen.

Now that her seventeenth birthday had come and gone, she no longer had a legitimate excuse.

"You really must allow me to take you to town. It is such fun, and I guarantee you will meet many eligible young bachelors. I have set my hopes on it and will not waver, Miss Dashwood." She turned to Mrs. Dashwood imploringly the next evening at dinner. "Might I not prevail upon you to convince your daughter?"

Mrs. Dashwood gave the woman a placating smile. "Meg is allowed to decide for herself."

Meg frowned into a plate of sliced beef and peas and wondered if she might perhaps give it at least one try. If not for the mere pleasure of traveling somewhere new.

She made up her mind to give it one week and then she would decide.

\--

Meg hopped down from the carriage and greeted her nephew Henry as he darted down the gravel drive and into her arms. Mrs. Dashwood was quick to follow, tweaking her oldest grandchild’s cheek with incredible fondness.

"Are we to slide down the bannisters today?" Henry asked in a hoarse whisper, his round face ruddy with excitement.

"Not today, Henry. I almost got us in trouble last time."

She carried the small boy inside, and they greeted Marianne and Colonel Dashwood who were in the front parlor. 

"See how big sissy is getting!" Henry said, pointing a wet and sticky finger toward the mewling bundle of blankets in Colonel Brandon's arms.

"Yes," Meg remarked, "she's almost as big as you, Hen."

"Never!" The boy protested. "I will always be the biggest and strongest!"

And to emphasize his point he helped himself down from Meg's arms and began trotting around the room attempting to lift items he thought were impressively heavy. 

The gathered members laughed at his antics, and Marianne decided it was time for little Henry to take his afternoon nap. Mrs. Dashwood and Marianne departed, leaving Meg, Colonel Brandon, and baby Eliza alone.

He engaged in the usual light chatter, to which she mostly attended.

"It's a rather pleasant day. Perhaps you'd enjoy a walk in the hedge maze, or maybe a trip to the stables?"

She glanced at him, startled that he had interpreted her gaze out the window for what it was - a desire to be out of doors. She always grew stir-crazy inside Delaford. The grounds were simply too enticing to remain indoors for any extended time.

"I would enjoy that, as long as I will not be missed?" She said, unable to hide her anticipation.

Eliza began to wail, as if on cue, and he chuckled. "I assure you we will be distracted with other things. Please, enjoy yourself," he said this over his shoulder while he went in search of his wife.

Meg watched him, feeling a wave of sentiment towards her brother-in-law. He truly was the kindest man. She didn't waste time and exited the Delaford in a light sprint. She was instantly wrapped in the cool, spring air and sunshine. It didn’t take long for her to lose herself in the high hedge maze (though she could never truly be lost as it had been a favorite hideaway since she was twelve).

Meg let her fingers run across the aromatic branches of the beech hedges and allowed herself a moment of quiet reflection. Perhaps if she married someone with as extensive grounds as Colonel Brandon, she might—

Her thoughts were halted when she collided with someone’s back.

“My apologies—” she began, expecting it to be one of the many gardeners Colonel Brandon kept on retainer.

Except this young man was exceptionally well dressed for a gardener. And he lacked the usual accouterments, such as hedge clippers or a bevy of small tools for his trade.

“Beg p-pardon,” the young man stuttered, clearly as startled as she was.

“Have you, perhaps, lost your way?” Meg said, wondering if it was quite the thing for her to be talking to a perfect stranger having not been introduced and without a chaperone in tow.

He nodded and glanced around wordlessly.

“Well, I’m an old hand at this maze. I’m Margaret by the way.”

He gave her a half bow (a quite eloquent one) and simply said, “Edmund.”

Feeling a touch nervous at this new acquaintance, she naturally fell into her old habit of being a bit too forthright.

“Oh, that’s far too stuffy and formal. You can call me Meg and I will call you…what’s your second name, if you have one?”

“F-francis,” he said, faltering slightly.

“Hm, that’s worse somehow,” she said, thinking deeply.

She glanced over to find him studying her with a bemused expression. She took a brief moment to do the same. He was not incredibly tall—though some would argue she had inherited her mother’s towering height so perhaps she was not the best judge. She found his round face and wide eyes appealing. He appeared so open and vulnerable, and the tiniest expressions on his face were clearly observed. He now showed signs of hesitation.

“How did you come to visit this place, Eddy?” She said, then corrected herself. “No, perhaps Frank. Oh, I shall land on it eventually.”

He gave her a half-smile before saying, “M-m-my uncle.” He had an odd way of pausing on syllables, and his face would screw into an intense expression of concentration.

“Colonel Brandon is your uncle?” Meg turned to face him, suddenly recollecting his words. “Why, then we are almost family! I am his wife’s younger sister.”

“I see,” he said, growing silent once more.

Meg opened her mouth to speak again but realized that perhaps her endless chatter was making him more nervous. He appeared to be a quiet individual—which was perhaps why he had stolen away into the maze for a solitary walk.

She was relieved that no one observed their exit from the maze (especially the ever-watchful Mrs. Jennings who was forever trying to sniff out a scandal or secret romance).

“I was planning to make my way to the stables. Would you care to join me?” Meg turned and observed the expressions on her companion’s face. He looked uneasy again, but nevertheless, he nodded his head and walked alongside her.

They entered the large building and were met with several pairs of curious eyes. A tall, thin young man approached and gave her companion a warm smile.

“Lord Barrett, we were about to send out a search party,” the man said, and then he turned his eyes to Meg and bowed. “I am Daniel, the young lord’s groom. You must be the youngest Dashwood daughter.”

“Why, yes,” Meg said, glancing at Edmund or Francis or whatever his name was. “But I must confess, I had no idea I was in the presence of a Lord.”

“Yes, but he is very modest, you see,” Daniel added as an aside.

She caught sight of Lord Barrett rolling his eyes. His groom spoke to the quality of Colonel Brandon’s stock of horses and hinted at the fineness of the weather.

Meg ignored this blatant suggestion and sauntered over to her favorite mare, nuzzling her face lovingly.

“This is Electra,” she said.

“From Sophocles or Euripides?” Lord Barrett surprised them both with his question.

She turned and met his gaze, hesitating a half second before responding, “I suppose I prefer the character of Electra in Sophocles’ play, but Euripides humanizes her by introducing an unwelcome marriage. That was the story that inspired her name.”

The young lord nodded his head in agreement and moved to the opposite side of the stable to stand beside a chestnut gelding.

“You two will have loads to discuss on your ride,” Daniel interpolated, giving Meg no opportunity to excuse herself.

She was now tied to the activity, and though she was a bit uncomfortable with the idea of the reticent Lord Barrett as her companion, she found the prospect of an afternoon ride too tempting to decline.

She was in the midst of tightening the billet strap when Daniel suddenly appeared at her elbow.

“Lord Barrett is a fine young man,” he said.

Meg gave him a puzzled glance before offering a non-committal grunt.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed his, ah, affliction?”

She glanced over his shoulder at the young lord who was deftly saddling the gelding.

“He has a slight stutter, perhaps,” she admitted in a soft tone.

“I think you’ll find it is more than slight. He hardly speaks to anyone because of it.” When she could find no reply, he continued, “He could use a friend, Miss Dashwood.”

She studied the rather outspoken young groom, finding she liked him. “I shall do my best,” she said, accepting his hand as he helped her onto the mare.

Meg spurred Electra towards the entrance. She turned back once to meet Lord Barrett’s gaze. His open face revealed uncertainty.

She beckoned with one hand and said, “Come along, then. The sun won’t last forever.”


	2. A Friend After All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meg stared at him, marveling at the sheer number of words he had spoken in one sentence to her. Perhaps her approach was working, and she would make him a friend after all.

Meg allowed a pleasant lull to overtake them as she soaked in the rare sunshine and cool breeze. After a moment, she turned and studied her companion's profile. 

"Is it not unusual for a Lord to saddle his own horse?"

"I l-l-like it."

"As do I," she said. "And you're quite proficient at it."

He glanced at her, clearly unused to such praise. "Why, thank you."

She was tempted to ask him outright about his supposed "affliction" as it did not seem to affect him all the time, but she realized this would be impertinent. 

At least, not until they became true friends. Meg realized she had just arrived at this decision and she planned to see it through. She had just bemoaned her lack of pleasant young men, and Lord Barrett certainly fell into that category.

She found her best approach with him was to chat away on any subject she pleased, and he would occasionally interject with his own opinions. In this way, she discovered he, too was an avid reader.

"Literature or poetry?" She asked, drawing Electra into a shady spot in the field.

The sun began to beat heavily on the top of her head. Unlike a lady of breeding, she had, of course, neglected to bring a riding hat. Except that she didn’t own such a frivolous article of clothing.

"B-both," he said, bringing the gelding up beside her at a respectable distance.

"That's cheating! You have to choose," she insisted.

"L-l-li-l--" he paused, took a deep breath, and finally said, "The first."

"What have you been reading lately?"

He bit his lip, and she wondered if she was asking too much of him.

"I enjoy M-M-M-mmm…" he paused, and his expression was one of agony as the word simply refused to leave his lips.

Meg hesitated and then ventured to say, "Shall I try to guess?"

The look he gave her was one of immense gratitude as he nodded his head.

"Is it 'A Modest Proposal?'"

He shook his head.

"It is surely not 'Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure'?"

His cheeks flushed slightly and she was glad to hear him laugh for the first time. He again shook his head.

“'Most Eminent English Poets'...'The Marriage of Figaro'..." She began listing things off at random that she knew started with the letter ‘M,’ having very little to go on.

"I must have at least a clue!" she demanded.

"D-Defoe," he said.

"'Moll Flanders!' Of course!" She leaned her head back and laughed at this discovery. "So you are a fan of drama and romance. One might even say an excessive amount of romance."

He shrugged one shoulder and kicked the restless gelding into a slow trot. Puzzled, she urged Electra forward to join him. He was wearing an odd little smile, and his cheeks were flushed—perhaps from the growing heat of the afternoon.

"Thank you," he said with perfect clarity.

"What for, Lord Barrett?"

"For t-ta-t-talk...for conversing with me. And you may c-call me Ed. The other is indeed stuffy."

Meg stared at him, marveling at the sheer number of words he had spoken in one sentence to her. Perhaps her approach was working, and she would make him a friend after all.

"Very well, Ed. I shall race you back to the stables!"

And with that, she left him behind rather unceremoniously as she spurred Electra into action. 

It was a hard fought race. She ultimately won, but only by mere inches. The capable Ed flanked her the entire way.

\--

Lord Barrett, his groom, and valet stayed another fortnight. Meg visited six out of the seven days, managing to surprise Marianne and Colonel Brandon with the length of her stays each time. Meg and Ed (as he still insisted she call him) took two more ride together and were resigned to stay indoors on the last days of his visit as the weather had turned poorly. Naturally, they found themselves at home in one of Colonel Brandon’s extensive libraries.

They sat in front of the fire and read or played card games. On quieter days, they joined Marianne and the Colonel in the main library and enjoyed Marianne’s beautiful piano playing. The pieces were often interrupted at intervals by the demands of their two children. Eliza was often fussy and demanded to be held by her mother, and Henry was rather too fond of being the center of attention.

Lord Barrett, however, showed a remarkable skill at keeping the children distracted. He could entertain Eliza with the most outlandish facial expressions (perhaps his mobile features equipped him with the perfect skills for this), and he could always find some sort of game to play with Henry that kept him from interrupting the music.

Meg, though she tried her best, only ever managed to rile Henry into a frenzy of activity, and she never felt at ease with the delicate baby in her arms. Eliza enjoyed tugging on Meg’s long curls and pinching her chin rather than resting peacefully. She happily left these tasks to the capable hands of Elinor and Colonel Brandon and, surprisingly, Lord Barrett’s.

Meg's only hesitation in following through with her plan came in the form of innocent, well meaning comments from her friends and family.

"You and Lord Barrett seemed to enjoy your ride this afternoon," her mother had said.

"He is not very tall, but he has a sort of grace, don’t you think, Meg?” Marianne had added.

“What a strange circumstance that brought him here,” Elinor had joined the conversation. “From what I understand, he has not visited in more than six years.”

Meg had simply rolled her eyes at these statements, insisting time and again that they were merely becoming friends and she saw no further use in their teasing.

Worst of all, however—Mrs. Jennings had somehow caught wind of everything and was determined to bring it up at every occasion.

“I hear the dashing young Lord is departing tomorrow. I know Miss Margaret will be feeling his absence _terribly_ ,” she said, giving a knowing wink to Sir John Middleton.

Lady Middleton remained passive and unaware as usual while her children ran in wild circles around the drawing room.

“It has been nice to hear of our Meg spending time with other young people,” Sir John added, taking a hearty bite from a plate of corned beef.

“No doubt he will come again, Margaret my dear. Don’t you fret,” Mrs. Jennings said.

“He has become a good friend and that is all,” Meg interjected—but to no avail.

Mrs. Jennings agreed to this statement but nullified this by winking at Sir John across the table. Mrs. Dashwood put a placating hand over Meg’s, sensing her daughter’s temper rising.

Despite the annoyances of her family and friends making wild assumptions, Meg was determined to visit Ed one last time. It was true that she would miss spending time in the company of another young person.

On their last afternoon together, they found themselves once again tucked away in the library. She glanced over her book and found Ed was struggling to speak. She set her novel aside and waited as he fought to produce the first few words.

“I h-h-h…have enjoyed this w-week, Meg,” he said at last.

“I have certainly enjoyed spending time with someone my own age.” He appeared on the brink of asking her a question, so she supplied his unspoken query with: “Not many young people in the country, you see.”

He nodded, understanding her perfectly.

“Where is your home?” she asked.

“Richmond,” he said.

“Not far from London, but very far from your mother’s home in...Avignon, is it?”

He nodded, his face clouding slightly. “She l-li-lives there, but I stay with m-m…my father’s sister.”

Meg wanted to ask more, but much like the subject of his stutter, she could tell that his mother was a topic best left for a future date.

“Will you be back this way again sometime?” Meg was startled by the tone of chagrin in her voice.

“N-not f-f-or a while,” he supplied. “But I m-may write. If you should like.”

She brightened immediately. “I should like that immensely! I’ve never had cause to write anyone or receive my own letters. What fun that shall be!”

He gave her a smile, and they lapsed into silence again. After a time, they each returned to their books.

He was to depart the next day, so at the end of her visit, she made sure to wish him safe travels as well as extending a hearty thanks to his groom, Daniel, for being so kind. She also managed to pass a small slip of paper into Ed’s hand with the address of her home where she could be reached. She felt it was a bit secretive, but she would rather not make a spectacle over the fact that they intended to write to each other. No doubt Mrs. Jennings would make light of the news if she learned it.

Meg did her best to distract herself in the upcoming days after his departure. She had enjoyed his visit, simply for the fact that it gave her a purpose to her visits to Delaford (not that she didn’t enjoy the company of her own family). After several days, they had finally found a sort of rhythm to their conversations. It was naturally frustrating at times, and she truly hated watching him struggle to speak the simplest phrases. But she had hoped he would gain confidence around her so that he could make his own friends back home. She had no real hopes of seeing him again, but the anticipation of a letter was almost too much to bear.

At last, after what felt like months (and was, in fact, only eight days), a letter was delivered to Barton Cottage addressed to a “Miss Margaret Dashwood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm quite enjoying myself, but if you've found your way to my humble story, leave me a comment to let me know what you think!


	3. Of No Particular Breeding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe, it Ed? Me! Margaret Dashwood, wearing frocks and dancing with eligible young men! I’m sure I will make a shocking mess of it. 

Meg immediately excused herself to her room and shut the door behind her. She ripped the wax seal from the back of the letter and sat at her desk to devour its contents.

_Meg,_

_We have at last arrived home, after an added day of travel due to one of the horses throwing a shoe. It was a wet and rainy journey, and I am forever grateful to be home once more. Though travel is its own adventure, there is nothing like the joy of returning to the comforts of home. Don’t you agree?_

_My visit to Delaford was unexpected in many ways, and it pleases me to be able to write to you. You are, of course, under no obligation to reply as I am sure a young lady such as yourself stays quite busy. Allow me to reiterate how pleasant our time was together._

And here, he went on to express that he had been re-reading Sophocles’ and Euripides’ Electra stories, and he spent some time comparing the two. Meg devoured the letter greedily, finding his eloquent manner of writing a welcome surprise.

He continued:

_My aunt says that we are to have company all of next week, and I expect our home to be crawling with relatives. We live in a generous home (rather comparable to Delaford) named Thistledown. It is so called because of the fields of wild thistle flowers that surround it. Though we do not have as many libraries (alas! Only one) nor a pianoforte as grand, I consider this place a true home._

_As I am reaching the end of this page, I shall close with saying once more how lovely my visit was to my uncle’s estate. I await your reply with anticipation._

_Sincerely_

_The Honorable Lord Edmund Francis Barrett_

_(Ed, to his friends)_

Meg smiled at the final lines and immediately went in search of proper writing paper. She realized she had used the last of it to scribble a draft of a novel she had been working on for years. The remainders of it existed in crumpled balls of paper that littered the floor (she had asked their only maid to leave her room to its own devices as she was quite messy). Further annoyed, she realized she was nearly out of writing ink.

She exited her room and inquired whether her mother had any supplies to offer.

“My dear, you have already pilfered my last remaining pages and inkwell.”

Meg apologized and offered to go into town for more. It was an easy mile, and the weather appeared mostly agreeable. Her mother warned that it did look like rain and to be extra careful on the slopes when it became muddy. Meg did her best not to roll her eyes at this unnecessary advice, realizing that to her mother, she would always be thought of as the baby of the family. She gave her mother an affectionate kiss on the cheek and departed.

It was indeed a muggy day, and she kept her pace quick to hopefully precede the storm that was quickly rolling in. She made swift time, and she entered the shops at random, finding she was in a mood to browse the new arrivals. She helped herself to a lemon biscuit from the bakery, and she was in the midst of swallowing it whole when she ran into Mrs. Jennings and her daughter Charlotte.

“Why, Miss Dashwood! What a coincidence bumping into you here.”

Meg quickly swallowed the indelicate bite of food and greeted her.

“Now, Miss Dashwood,” Mrs. Jennings linked arms with her, and she followed along reluctantly, her eyes drifting back to the booksellers with chagrin. Her errand would have to wait.

“I wonder if you are feeling quite forlorn in the absence of your new, shall we say, _friend_?” She gave Meg a meaningful smile.

“I am quite well, in fact,” she said, lifting her chin slightly.

“Indeed,” the woman replied, her tone conveying that she didn’t believe one word of it. “However, a trip to Richmond could easily be arranged, could it not?”

Meg sighed. “I suppose so,” she agreed reluctantly, wondering how she could extricate herself from this conversation without being entirely rude.

“And after all, it was apparent to everyone that he preferred your company above all others, so you have no need to worry of his affections being stolen away so quickly,” she added with another significant smile. “As a matter of fact, I have inquired after the young Lord and find that he is not presently engaged to anyone. Is that not good news for you, Miss Margaret?”

Meg bit her lip, feeling a strong retort rising in her throat. She did her best to school her words carefully. “I suppose it is good news if he had any intentions of asking for my hand. But as our time together was brief, I believe we shall remain friends and count ourselves lucky we had the chance to meet one another.”

Mrs. Jennings patted Meg’s arm consolingly, apparently having heard only what she wanted to hear and disregarding the rest. “He did not ask for it, then. Well, no matter my dear. Give it time, and—”

“I wonder, Mrs. Jennings,” Meg interrupted her steady stream of nonsensical conversation, suddenly struck with an idea. “Is the invitation to accompany you to London this season still open?”

“Why, yes, of course!” The lady’s eyes widened, shocked by this sudden change of topic. “Are you considering accepting it? I must admit I am surprised.”

Meg hesitated only a moment. This had only been a ploy to get Mrs. Jennings off of the subject of Lord Barrett, but perhaps she wasn’t as opposed to the idea as she used to be.

“I believe it will do me good to experience all that London has to offer.”

“Oh, my dear, we must begin planning at once!” Mrs. Jennings dove excitedly into discussions about some of the pleasures London would provide her, but Meg realized she must put a stop to it or she would never complete her errand.

She politely took her leave, blaming the approaching foul weather and the necessity of her errand, and she was at last free of them. She made her way to the booksellers and credited their account for fresh ink and a package of paper. Thunder rumbled overhead, and she had the distinct impression it signaled her doom for both the walk home and her rash decision to follow through with Mrs. Jennings' invitation.

She had the misfortune of selecting a day with changeable weather, and the moment she began her journey home, the heavens opened. She was almost immediately soaked to the bone. The bundle of paper was in a sorry state despite her attempts to tuck it beneath her robe. 

On arriving home, she stepped into the front hall, sneezed once, and was immediately sent to her room to sit in front of a roaring fire. 

"Really, Mama, I am just chilled from the rain. It will pass." She endured her mother's fussing but understood the anxiety likely stemmed from the great scare Marianne gave the family all those years ago. 

When she had a moment alone, she ventured to drape some string across her walls and above the mantle where she hung the dripping sheets of paper. Her letter writing would have to wait for another day. And it was perhaps fortuitous, because the slight chill developed into a headache and a cough over the course of the day. She was forced to remain indoors and largely inactive until it passed.

\--

"My dear, I can easily turn down the dinner invitation from Lord John," Mrs. Dashwood said, leaning over to rest her hand on Meg's forehead. She was relieved to feel no sign of a fever.

"I would not have you trapped in here with me a moment longer, Mama," Meg insisted. 

They had been cooped up in Barton Cottage for the better part of two days, and as much as they adored each other, it was highly likely Mrs. Dashwood was in need of some other company.

"Please give everyone my regards. I will be in capable hands with Maria nearby," she insisted, putting an end to the discussion.

As soon as she heard the carriage arrive and depart, she slipped from her bed and to her writing desk. 

She dipped her quill in the fully refilled inkwell and began.

_Ed,_

_I would have written my reply sooner, only we ran out of the necessary implements. You will notice the slight shade of blue (I purchased the wrong ink) and the sad state of the paper itself (I was caught in the rain on my way home). And if I developed a slight chill in the process, all the better for I am able to avoid dinners at Sir John's home with his deplorable children, at least until this passes._

_Rest assured, I am in the skilled hands of Maria, our live-in maid. I am sure you have a bevy of servants at your disposal, but at Barton Cottage, we have need for only two. Thomas is our manservant who helps with chopping wood, purchasing supplies, and general upkeep of our home. I have become a fairly competent wood chopper (don’t tell my mother - she would be mortified if she knew I was allowed to handle an axe) and through our maid Maria’s teachings, I am learning how to bake pies and season meat. I enjoy these simple pleasures. I do wonder if my future husband (whoever he may be, poor man) would be mortified if I continued such pursuits. That is, of course, if I manage to find a genteel match._

_Oh, but here is one interesting piece of news - I accidentally agreed to enter into Society. Can you believe, it Ed? Me! Margaret Dashwood, wearing frocks and dancing with eligible young men! I’m sure I will make a shocking mess of it._

Meg responded to his discussions on literature, finding she disagreed on his opinions but enjoying the discourse all the same. She found she had already moved to a second page and grew self-conscious, worried the parcel would be too conspicuous to avoid notice by her mother. She had yet to inform her of her plans to maintain correspondence with the young lord. 

_I shall cease my ramblings now. Perhaps I am growing a tad feverish after all and need to rest._

_With most sincere gratitude and humble regard,_

_The Less than Honorable Margaret Dashwood, Lady of No Particular Breeding_

_(Meg)_

“Oh, miss! Should you be out of bed?”

Meg turned to find Maria peeking through the doorway at her young mistress.

“I am just finishing my letter,” she said, folding it quickly and working to create a wax seal. She copied the address on the front of the envelope and handed it to the sweet-tempered woman.

“Would you be able to give this to Thomas to deliver to town tomorrow? I will provide the necessary cost.”

“That’s not necessary, Miss,” Maria said, taking the parcel and tucking it into her apron pocket. “Now I must insist on having you return to bed this instant, or your mother will be cross with me.”

Meg gave her an indulgent smile. Mrs. Dashwood was rarely cross, especially with the help, but she recognized that the woman said it as a way of convincing her strong-willed mistress to comply.

“Very well,” she consented, especially once she smelled the tantalizing aromas of rabbit and vegetable stew, one of Maria’s special recipes.

Meg found she was tired after all and slipped into restful sleep after finishing the entire bowl of soup (with a second helping). She was awoken some time later by a soft tap at her door. She opened her eyes to find her mother returning from dinner.

Mrs. Dashwood sat on the edge of the bed, checking Meg for any signs of fever and was again set at ease.

“I heard the most interesting piece of news from Mrs. Jennings,” her mother said, setting a basket beside her on the quilt.

“Was it more gossip about myself an a certain young gentleman? I have said before, Mama—”

“No, my love. Rest easy, she seems to have moved past that particular subject. But is it true you have agreed to go to London?”

Meg was struck with sudden guilt. In all the disorder caused by her sudden cold, she had neglected to inform her mother of this crucial piece of news. She at last admitted to the entire affair and the unfortunate rashness that had led to her current situation. Instead of sharing in her forlorn opinion of the affair, Mrs. Dashwood surprised her by fully supporting it.

“I think it is a good notion.”

“You do?” Meg was shocked. “But you told me once you detested Society!”

“And I still do, my dear. But there are certain opportunities it offers that you will not find if you remain here forever.”

Meg frowned. “Like a husband.”

Mrs. Dashwood nodded. “Yes. And there are times when social connections are also beneficial. Think of all of the opportunities provided to Marianne through her marriage to the Colonel. Your sister Elinor is only afforded similar chances because of her connection to him as well. Edward has forsaken his family to be with his wife, and this does come with a price.”

Meg fell back into her cushions. “I detest Society, too, Mama.”

Mrs. Dashwood reached out and grasped her daughter’s hand. “Should you decide never to marry, you know I will be happy to welcome you home for as long as you wish. And I will support you. But at least give London a try before you resign yourself to spinsterhood. Will you promise me that?”

“Very well,” Meg sighed dramatically, pretending as if this were the biggest inconvenience. She swiftly changed the subject. “Now, what is in this intriguing basket?”

Mrs. Dashwood pulled back a muslin cloth to reveal several bottles of Sir John’s best mead, a vial of tonic from Lady Middleton, fresh ginger root, and—luxury of luxuries—fresh peaches. Meg was touched by this sweet gesture and was speechless for a moment.

“They wish you well and said that you should want for nothing,” her mother said.

Meg felt a twinge of guilt, having just complained about the Middletons in her letter to Ed.

“They are good people, aren’t they, Mama?”

Her mother agreed and then promptly insisted her daughter return to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first letters have been written and sent, and of course Meg has done something rash and will likely regret it. But I wonder what sort of beau she will meet in London? Stay tuned!


	4. Girdles and Corsets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Thank you for rescuing me,” she said, examining Lord Thomas’ profile and finding she quite enjoyed it.  
> He had the rugged good looks so many women fawned over.

“Meg, should you like to borrow this frock?” Elinor held up an olive-colored muslin.

“Aren’t I too tall for your dresses?” Meg said, gently caressing her baby niece and growing more anxious with each passing minute.

Babies were so fragile and helpless, and she felt clumsy trying to hold them in her arms.

Elinor frowned. “Perhaps you are right. I do have a few shawls and a nice necklace you could use.”

“What was London like, Elinor?” Meg asked, doing her best to remain impossibly still as baby Mary dozed fitfully in her arms.

“Well, it was bright and full of people and activity. I must say the parties were rather overwhelming.”

The door opened and Edward appeared.

“My love,” Elinor said with a warm smile, approaching her husband and giving him a kiss.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” he said, tearing his eyes away from his wife to give his sister-in-law a warm smile. “Meg looks good with a child in her arms, don’t you think so, Elinor?”

Meg balked at this and slowly stood from her seat. “Oh, take her away from me before she wakes. I won’t know what to do with her.”

Edward complied with a soft laugh, bestowing a gentle kiss on Mary’s sleeping forehead.

Meg left her sister’s humble cottage with a few more items to add to her less than impressive wardrobe. Mrs. Jennings had insisted they seek the tailor in town for five new dresses, but she was forced to respectfully decline. The Dashwoods simply did not have the means, nor were they willing to accept any financial donations from the Middletons or the Brandons.

Despite this, Marianne foisted several gowns, shawls, and items of jewelry, which she claimed she had no use for any longer. Meg was grateful for the finer items, and she felt she could adequately rotate the gowns in order to give the impression of a larger wardrobe than she possessed. Her mother surprised her with a handful of bills, insisting that she purchase a new pair of shoes on arriving in London the next week.

The next few days were such a flurry of activity and planning that she found herself on the morning of her journey, having packed and re-packed her only trunk several times. Sir John’s carriage arrived, containing an excitable Mrs. Jennings, and after a while she found herself ensconced within.

“Take care, Meg, and do as you’re told,” Mrs. Dashwood said, reaching through the open carriage door and clasping her daughter’s hand.

“Oh, don’t you worry, Mrs. Dashwood. I will keep a close eye on her, you can rely on that!”

Mrs. Dashwood thanked the woman and quietly passed a parcel of paper into Meg’s palm, wholly unnoticed by the ever-watchful Mrs. Jennings. Mother and daughter gave each other a meaningful smile, exchanged farewells, and then the carriage was off like a shot.

Meg tucked the parcel into the sleeve of her cloak (which was a loan from her mother), and she was anxious for an opportunity to open it. Mrs. Jennings, however, was in bright spirits. She chattered amiably about inconsequential items as the journey continued.

Just as it seemed Meg would have to wait the entire journey to London before she could satisfy her burning curiosity, Mrs. Jennings began to show signs of falling asleep. Her head drooped forward, and a soft snore escaped her lips.

Meg painstakingly removed the parcel from her sleeve and examined it. Her heart leapt when she saw the recipient. She peeled back the wax seal, glancing up at intervals to ensure she would not be observed. The papers were finally unfolded, and she devoured the letter’s contents.

_Meg,_

_I was sorry to hear you had caught a chill. I hope by the time you are reading this, you have fully recovered. But perhaps the days of invalidity led to some unexpected creative output. I should like to read some of the writing you mentioned when I was at Delaford. You spoke of it as if it were nothing, but to create something—even if you do not find yourself proud of the result—is still a feat in and of itself._

_My aunt is particularly fond of sending me to social gatherings in London, but I will be spared these for the next three weeks at least, for as long as these relations have decided to make their residence in Thistledown. There is a young woman (an acquaintance of my cousin) whom my aunt has set her sights upon. I declare, Meg, there is nothing more humiliating than feeling as though you are a prized horse being led into auction for the highest bidder. I daresay I shall disappoint this one, and that will be the end of it. My aunt has quite given up hope of me ever making a good match. Though men are afforded more “eligible” years than women (a fault in our Society, surely), I daresay at twenty-two, she is prepared to resign herself to my bachelorhood._

_Fair warning – London Society is unlike any Society you will have encountered thus far. You will meet fops, rakes, flirts, and scoundrels. Do not be fooled by charm or a good figure. Men can wear girdles, too._

Meg paused here to stifle a laugh. Mrs. Jennings’ snores hitched slightly, and she held her breath until they resumed and she could continue.

_Though no doubt you will have many gentleman callers, just be cautious._

_This letter will have to be a short one as I am being called away once again for more “quality time” in the drawing room. I do wish you were here to make light of these painful hours spent trying to impress a woman who is not the least bit interested. She has not even heard of Daniel Defoe, Meg. How am I to converse with such a person?_

_Heaven help me, they are calling for me again._

_I hope you will write while you are in London, if you can spare a free moment. I will get your new direction that way, and I can send you a sufficiently lengthy letter as penance for this missive._

_Your friend,_

_Ed_

Meg folded the letter and slipped it into her cloth reticule, wishing the journey would end soon so she could write a swift reply. She was anxious about this endeavor, and she knew his letters would provide the necessary distraction.

At last, after what felt like a full day, they arrived in London. The carriage pulled up at the curb alongside a street with lines of identical buildings all connected as one. Somehow, Mrs. Jennings was able to distinguish her particular London abode from the many beige and cream edifices. Her hostess chattered amiably, greeting the footman, whom she simply called “Foot” and calling out for tea to be served in the drawing room.

Meg paid very little heed to Mrs. Jennings' rapid-fire conversation. She mentioned some sort of social gathering that evening, going so far as to suggest what Meg should wear, to which she gave polite responses.

"I fear you are perhaps tired from the journey?" Mrs. Jennings said, giving her young charge a concerned glance.

"Yes," Meg said, conscience stricken that she truly had not been listening. "It is perhaps all of the excitement of the day."

"Well no worries my dear. Let me show you to your rooms."

Meg gasped when the door was opened to the bedroom. Once alone (at last), she sat down at the quaint writing desk below the window and immediately retrieved Ed’s letter from her reticule. She reread this, now at liberty to laugh aloud at the appropriate places, and immediately began drafting her reply.

_Ed,_

_You will, no doubt, notice the quality of paper and ink. I am at last in London! I have yet to attend a social gathering but would rather enjoy the elaborate rooms I have been given during my stay here. Can you believe it? A bedroom with a four-poster bed, elaborately papered walls, and a private bath! I haven’t experienced these luxuries since we lived at Norland park._

_There is one element of city living I was not prepared for. Here I sit, happily writing away, while there is an unholy amount of noise wherever I turn. Clattering carriages and horses on the streets outside, people passing, and even neighbors bumping and thumping against the shared walls (I had no idea the houses would be so close!). I feel you might be to blame for not properly preparing me for all the intricacies of city life._

_All is forgiven, of course. I am currently too distracted for worrying about tonight’s festivities. Mrs. Jennings has already spoken of a social gathering this evening at the home of the Fairburns or Faircloths or some such flowery name. I am at a loss as to how elaborate my outfit should be and am a bit concerned I will be a country bumpkin among city folk._

There was a tap at the door, and a lady’s maid appeared stating it was time to “get Miss ready for the party.” She asked for a few more minutes, and the maid disappeared with a polite bow.

_I’m summoned away and will complete this letter this evening. No doubt I will have many interesting observations to make. It is odd that you should wish I was there with you in Thistledown—I find myself longing to know I will see a familiar face among the throngs of strangers tonight. If only your aunt would take a notion to send you to London. I am certain I will never find anyone to discuss literature with. Women who constantly have their noses stuck in a book are, according to Mrs. Jennings, ‘not quite the thing’ when it comes to attracting a mate. I will ignore this gentle set-down for the moment, but it will not decrease my reading habits in the least. Nor will I_

Meg was reluctantly pulled away from her letter by the dutiful maid who had returned. She found herself turned about, poked, prodded, and practically pushed into a set of tight corsets. She detested them instantly. Her mother had not enforced them in the Dashwood home and she warned that this was the trend in High Society.

“Am I supposed to be able to breathe?” Meg asked the three servant girls who whisked about her in a flurry of activity.

They gave her sympathetic smiles but said nothing. She wasn’t sure she enjoyed the quiet dutifulness of these servants. It made her feel intensely uncomfortable not to be able to converse easily with them.

She was then sat in front of the mirror and was forced to sit perfectly still while they primped and curled her natural ringlets into a crown across the top of her head. She was impressed with their handiwork and hoped it would distract from the distinct fade of her pink frock.

Once completed, she was instructed to meet Mrs. Jennings in the front parlor.

“Why, don’t you look a picture?” Mrs. Jennings said, reaching out to clasp her young charge’s hand. “No doubt you will turn a few heads this evening.” And with a decided wink, she escorted them out the front doors.

\--

“I daresay the man had no idea the prize he was in possession of. I could have purchased the gelding for twice the cost, but he was none the wiser, and I am all the richer for it!” Mr. Callaghan burst into raucous laughter.

Meg gave a half-hearted chuckle in response, fanning herself with the lacy contraption Mrs. Jennings had gifted to her. She was immensely grateful for it. The rooms were stuffy and full of people dressed in fashionable gowns. She _did_ feel like a dowdy. And she was currently trapped in conversation with the dullest man alive.

A figure approached, and she glanced over to see a pleasant looking young man giving her a sardonic look.

“Oh, Lord Thomas. Have you met Miss Margaret Dashwood?” Mr. Callaghan had the decency to at least provide an introduction. He was not perfectly useless after all.

“I came over here for that express purpose, Mr. Callaghan,” Lord Thomas said, bowing slightly in Meg’s direction. “Pray, tell me you have not been boring her with that gelding story.”

Mr. Callaghan’s countenance betrayed that he had, and Lord Thomas laughed slightly. “Then allow me to steal Miss Dashwood away—with her permission, of course—for a turn about the floor.”

Mr. Callaghan could hardly refuse a man of higher rank. Meg gave the older gentleman a distracted word of thanks before being drawn away by the charming Lord.

“Thank you for rescuing me,” she said, examining Lord Thomas’ profile and finding she quite enjoyed it.

He had the rugged good looks so many women fawned over. In fact, she saw several sets of female eyes following the two of them as he led her to the dance floor. The musicians were just returning from a short respite, and soon a lively gavotte filled the room. Meg took Lord Thomas’ hand and found herself being led by a capable dancer. He asked her to join him for two more dances, and she was obliged to agree to one with Mr. Callaghan, but the end of the night, she was sitting and chatting amiably with the young Lord once more.

“My, you are an avid reader, aren’t you?” he said with a half-smile.

She couldn’t tell if he was teasing her or simply making an innocent observation. He had a manner of speaking that always had an edge of sarcasm.

“Yes, my mother encouraged it,” she said, a touch defensively. “Have you read _The Vicar of Wakefield_?”

“Hm, I suppose at one time or another. But tell me, Meg,” he said, and she blushed slightly at his use of the nickname. “What is country life like?”

She was certain he was making fun of her now. She twisted her hands around the fan in her lap and adopted a haughtier tone than usual. “Oh, well it is exactly like this, except without all the people and fancy food and dancing.”

“How charming,” he said, giving her a wide smile. “But it is a shame there is not more dancing, because you are so light on your feet.”

She frowned at him. “Are you teasing me, Lord Thomas?”

“No,” he said, his tone intimating otherwise. “I am forever serious.”

Meg found that while she enjoyed his attentions (it was, after all, the first time an earl had shown her any particular attention, and a handsome one at that), she was growing uncomfortable. She also noticed a great many more eyes staring at the pair, and many faces betrayed less than friendly expressions.

“If you will excuse me, Lord Thomas, I believe I am needed by my friend.” Meg stood, offered a hesitant curtsey, and departed as quickly as was prudent.

She found Mrs. Jennings chatting with several of the older women near the front entrance of the home.

“Ah, my dear! You made quite an impression dancing with the highest ranked eligible bachelor at the party. Was she not dazzling, Mrs. Morris?”

A dowdy woman adorned with entirely too many peacock feathers nodded in agreement, setting the white stems in a wild bounce atop her head.

“I find I have a touch of the headache, Mrs. Jennings,” Meg lied.

This was sufficient to raise alarm, and Mrs. Jennings politely took their leave, but not after forcing them both to speak briefly with the host and hostess. Meg still could not recall their names.

Once home, and having insisted she receive dinner in the solitude of her rooms, Meg was at last free to finish her letter.

_Oh, Ed. My first society party, and I feel I made so many errors. But imagine—I danced with an Earl! Lord Thomas is his name. I admit he has not read many books, and I am not certain he truly likes me, but it was delightful to feel as though I wasn’t entirely repellant. I truly wish you had been there to keep me company. There were a great many High Society fashions that I am baffled by (who knew peacock feathers were the fashionable thing to wear?). And I fear Mr. Callaghan will insist on finding me and telling me of his many horse purchases at every opportunity. I had the misfortune to mention I enjoyed the occasional ride._

_Will every party be like this? Please tell me otherwise!_

_Meg_

_p.s. I think Mr. Callaghan wears a girdle. He was sweating profusely and seemed to hold his breath in between speaking!_

The next morning, Meg sent this letter off with the first post (thankful to find Foot alone and without Mrs. Jennings in sight). She wondered if the post would move swifter as they were now many miles closer to Richmond.


	5. She Stoops to Conquer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You l-l-l…look nice,” he said, taking a sip of his drink and glancing down.
> 
> Meg was startled by the compliment. She was merely using humor at her own expense to help him relax.

Meg was mortified to see two sets of flowers arriving the next day, one from Mr. Callaghan and the other from the honorable Lord Thomas.

“Oh, my dear! _Two_ gifts! Why, you have turned some heads, as I said you would. What a charming couple you and the Earl made last night on the dance floor. He will be at the Ward party this evening. And I daresay Mr. Callaghan will as well. He seemed quite taken with you.”

She endured more of these comments throughout the day and was only glad when Mrs. Jennings requested they make a quick walk into town to explore the shops. Meg enjoyed this immensely and was enamored with the beautiful creations in the bakery (almost too pretty to eat) and the wide variety of unusual colors at the drapers. She had never seen so many combinations of bright colors in her life. Not even her sister’s or mother’s dresses during their time at Norland Park had been so elaborate.

Mrs. Jennings insisted they take a stroll through the park. It was a beautiful, if chilly, afternoon and she was pleased by the elaborate flowers and shrubs. She caught sight of Mr. Callaghan, but before she could turn back, he had caught Mrs. Jennings’ attention.

“What fortune,” she said in Meg’s ear. “Let us walk a while with him. I will fall back and allow you some room.” With this, she winked.

Meg felt her heart sink. While he seemed a nice enough gentleman, he simply had nothing to speak of except horses. He walked in a stiff manner, and his breath came in short bursts on occasion. She was quite convinced her early assumption had been correct. The thought of it brought a smile to her face. She longed to be able to share this with her friend. Another lengthy letter would have to suffice.

They withstood nearly half an hour in Mr. Callaghan’s presence before Meg stated she was beginning to tire of the walk. He was too genteel to insist they continue, and Mrs. Jennings could do nothing but go along with her young charge as Meg practically turned on her heel and led them back (in an almost jog) to their waiting carriage.

“My dear, did something occur to vex you? He is a nice gentleman. Very polite and—”

“Yes, he is all of those things, I agree. He is, however, dull as tombs.”

Her hostess burst into a fit of unexpected laughter. “My child, not every eligible match will be thrilling. You may find a steady, reliable husband is exactly what you need rather than a hero from one your books.”

Meg frowned through the window and considered the woman’s words on their drive to the London abode.

Two full days passed, and she found she was losing track of the number of social events and visits from Mr. Callaghan. Each time, she did her best to be polite and even introduce new topics of conversation. But alas…

“Just the other day, I bought a mare that I plan to put with a young colt I purchased last year. It should be a great pairing.”

Meg could only offer a noncommittal noise in response.

He at last made his leave, and Meg insisted on doing nothing for the rest of the afternoon—indulging in her favorite pastime (much to the chagrin of her hostess) and burying her nose in a book. It was a pleasant afternoon, but she was again pulled away to get ready for yet another social event. She began to dread these, and she realized the thrill of traveling to somewhere new had certainly worn thin.

At last, wearing an uncomfortable pair of new flats and feeling the awful pinch of the corset, she entered the Shaw home with Mrs. Jennings, doing her best to remain dutiful and attentive to the woman. She did not, after all, want to offend the woman by appearing as outwardly unhappy as she felt. She braced herself as Mr. Callaghan again came into view. He insisted on having he first dance, to which she of course obliged.

She caught sight of Lord Thomas who captured her eye and managed to steal her away from her dull companion once again. He had not come to call on her, and she was growing worried that perhaps he had forgotten all about her. Or maybe he _had_ been making fun of her by sending the flowers in the first place.

“We were just discussing an old society favorite of ours who has suddenly come to visit. We call him Lord B-B-B-Barrett.”

The women around him twittered with appreciative laughter.

“Yes, he is s-s-s-simply d-d-delightful, don’t you think, Lord Thomas?” one of the fine women said, watching Meg expectantly for signs of shared mirth.

She was frozen in place with shock.

“Is he here tonight?” she managed to ask, her voice tight.

“Yes, he is probably lurking in some corner somewhere,” Lord Thomas said, glancing around him with unnecessary dramatic emphasis.

“Then I should love to see him. He and I are the dearest of friends.” She was pleased to see the shocked expressions on their faces. The lady who had spoken flushed and appeared a bit subdued, perhaps even embarrassed.

“You will excuse me, please,” Meg said, curtseying to the group and wandering around through the rooms, blind to everything around her.

She imagined she saw Mr. Callaghan approaching, but she simple maneuvered to the opposite side of the room. At last, her eyes caught sight of a familiar figure. He was, indeed, lurking in the corner. He was staring down into a glass of champagne with the first expression she was unable to readily interpret.

She considered her approach and realized several pairs of eyes had followed her. In her usual style, she quickly arrived at a decision and followed through with it.

She moved to stand beside him and said softly, “You should ask me to dance.”

He glanced up sharply, and his face filled with a mixture of surprise, pleasure, and shock. “M-M-M-mmm…Miss Dashwood,” he faltered, his neck flushing suddenly.

Meg took a sip from her drink and said again, “Ask me to dance, Ed. Please.”

Without a word, he took her drink and placed both glasses on a nearby servant’s tray. He then extended his hand, which she gladly took. He led them to the large sitting room that had been converted into a dance hall, and after a pause, they joined the animated dancers. The adrenaline of the past few minutes slowly faded as she lost herself in the elaborate steps of the courante.

“Try to appear as though you’re having fun,” she said when the dance brought them close together.

Ed met her gaze, and at last, a smile filled his open features. Meg caught sight of Lord Thomas and a few of the women from before, and she was pleased to see varying levels of mortification and annoyance on their faces.

This dance concluded, and she encouraged him to stay for another. The steps of the slower dance brought them face-to-face several times, and it was difficult for either of them to hide their enjoyment. She actually encouraged Ed to laugh when she stepped forward when she should have retreated, stomping slightly on his toe.

“Oh, hang it, Ed. I am not the best dancer.” Their laughter rang out in the end of the long room.

At the conclusion of this dance, she insisted they seek out refreshments. They were halted in their pursuit by a sour-faced Mr. Callaghan who insisted on being introduced to the young man who had stolen his dancing partner.

“This is my dear friend, Lord Barrett,” she said, and the Lord bowed gracefully.

Mr. Callaghan glanced over his figure with a critical eye. “Indeed. I believe we have been at several of the same parties, have we not, my Lord?”

“Oh, no doubt you have,” Meg supplied. “But if you will excuse us, Mr. Callaghan, we are quite parched.”

And with that, she departed for the long buffet tables in the front room with Ed in tow. The rest of the party passed in pleasant company, if a bit crushed by the throng of attendees. They managed to find a mostly secluded corner, but she noticed Ed’s affliction was much worse as they had to raise their voices to be heard. But as usual, they managed to converse quite naturally. She was delighted that they could resume their discussions as if they had just spoken yesterday.

Meg learned that he had not received her most recent letter before his aunt, disappointed that he had failed to secure yet another eligible match, sent him to London as sort of backhanded punishment. The wife she had planned for him had left the day before, several days earlier than planned.

“She kn-kn-knows I hhhhate these parties.”

“So you would not have received my letter after all. You had no way of knowing I would be here at all!”

“I d-didn’t know you hhhad arrived in L-London so soon or I would have c-c-called,” he said, taking a bite of an elaborate raspberry tea cake.

“Well, here I am in all my glory,” she said, extending her arms to reveal a faded pink dress he had no doubt seen on his last visit to Delaford.

It was one she wore when company was expected and was truly her best gown. This evening, one of the maids had managed to liven up the wilted lace at the edge of the cuffed sleeves, and she had borrowed an opal necklace from Elinor.

“You l-l-l…look nice,” he said, taking a sip of his drink and glancing down.

Meg was startled by the compliment. She was merely using humor at her own expense to help him relax.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Mrs. Jennings suddenly appeared, greeting Ed with an air of surprising coolness.

“Margaret, my dear, it is growing late.” She turned to her companion. “Perhaps we will see you at the next gathering, Lord Barrett,” and with that, she took Meg’s arm and drew her away.

In the carriage ride home, Mrs. Jennings was oddly quiet.

It was Meg’s turn to ask, “Is something amiss?”

“My dear, I am not sure you realize but you almost put yourself into a bit of a scrape.” Mrs. Jennings continued before her young charge could reply. “You excused yourself abruptly from Lord Thomas’ presence, you ignored Mr. Callaghan's request for the first dance, and you showed partiality for a young man who, I learned tonight, is considered a joke among some of the gentry.”

Meg was incensed. “It was _because_ of this fact that I showed partiality. He is my friend, and I will not have anyone speak poorly of him.”

“Your loyalty is quite becoming, Margaret, but I am not sure you realize that people have been placing you and Mr. Callaghan together as a match.”

“After three days in his company and a bunch of flowers? Surely not.”

“Well,” Mrs. Jennings showed signs of exasperation. “Yes, my dear. Tongues wag. People will talk. Speculations turn into gossip, and that is why your coldness to him tonight was so shocking to the gathered crowd.”

Meg shook her head. “I will never understand the intricacies of Society.” She did not voice her next thought, which was that she almost regretted going through with this foolhardy plan of coming to London at all.

Except if she had not, she wouldn’t have spent the last few hours in Ed’s company, and she would not trade that for an hour of her own comfort. She also realized that by insulting Mr. Callaghan and putting Lord Thomas in an uncomfortable position, she was likely doing the same for well-meaning and kind Mrs. Jennings. She, after all, was very much enmeshed in Society. She adored it. Meg sighed, showing uncharacteristic restraint as she reached across the carriage and took Mrs. Jennings’ hand.

“I will not deny myself the company of Lord Barrett, as he is my friend. But I am determined to make this right, if you will help me.”

Mrs. Jennings gave her a grateful smile, and the next day, Meg agreed to set several things in motion. She sent a letter to Mr. Callaghan expressing that she wished to take a stroll with him in the park, and afterwards a ride in his curricle. That morning, he appeared at their doorstep and whisked Meg away for a rather tiresome expedition. She truly did her best to remain attentive and polite, and she _was_ impressed with his fine horses.

“There, my dear,” Mrs. Jennings said, patting her arm when she returned. “That’s done, and you will not have to see him again if you do not wish.”

As for Lord Thomas, she was also obliged to accept his call at the house that afternoon. She was shocked that he actually called upon her--but she wondered if perhaps her hostess had had a hand in it. He arrived and was his usual charming self, though Meg could never forgive him for how he spoke about her friend. Mrs. Jennings excused herself to allow the two a moment to speak alone. Meg at first wished to say nothing to him. But the Dashwood temper would not allow it.

“Lord Thomas, I respect you and hold you in high regard as a member of a society I will never truly understand or feel as though I belong to. But I must admit shock at the unkind words spoken about my friend last evening.”

For once, the smug expression had faded from the young man’s face, and all sarcasm had evaporated from his words.

“I see,” he said, not quite able to meet her eyes.

“He is dear to me, and I would wish that, if you respect me at all—in whatever form that may be, even if only a fraction—that you not turn him into a laughing stock. At least, not while I am present. What you do when you are alone with your bevy of female companions is entirely your business.”

Lord Thomas’ eyes widened at this set-down. “A flush hit, Miss Dashwood. Dead center.” He stood and cleared his throat. “I see now that your affections are quite taken, and I will not steal one more moment of your time, much as I have been charmed by your country manners.”

He gave her one of his winning smiles that might have made her knees weaken if she were any other sort of female. But she wasn’t. She was Margaret Dashwood, a young woman who rarely rode sidesaddle, who knew how to chop wood as well as any man, and who baked a decent meat pie.

“You must promise me at least one dance at the next function we attend together,” he said. “I quite enjoyed having my toes trod upon.”

She laughed at this, and she gave him her hand, which he bowed over.

After his departure, she fell back against the couch in a heap, suddenly exhausted. Mrs. Jennings returned, with none other than Lord Barrett in tow.

“One visitor leaves, and you gain a replacement. My word, Miss Dashwood, you are a popular woman today!” Mrs. Jennings said, escorting Ed into the room and then excusing herself once more with a bemused expression.

She stared at Ed who stood like a statue in the middle of the room as the door closed.

“You have the oddest look on your face,” she said.

He met her gaze and gave an attempt at a smile.

She stood and approached him, coming to a realization. “I suppose you saw Lord Thomas on your way in.”

He nodded.

“We shall have nothing to worry about from him anymore.”

“Hhh-how so?” he said, frowning.

She wondered if he knew that he was teased by other members of Society. He was too smart _not_ to notice something like that, but she didn’t want him thinking she was fighting his battles for him all the same.

“I have promised him a dance at the next social function, but that is all. Oh, some women may find him attractive, but he’s far too smug and sarcastic for my taste.”

She could register relief on his face.

“And Mr. Callaghan?” he said with perfect clarity, and she could see there was a glint of humor in his eyes.

“Oh, I’ve accepted his offer of marriage, naturally.”

He started at this.

“Yes, he bent down on one knee, his girdle bursting loose, and he said, ‘Take me, Meg. Take all of me, and you will have as many horses as your heart desires!’”

He burst into laughter, and she felt immense relief. All was right again.

“I know you probably came here to socialize, but to be honest, Ed, I am practically burnt out with people.”

“I understand,” he said. “Sh-should I go?”

“Of course not!” she said, as if he should know better than to think she would send him away. “I just want to sit and read my book and not be bothered by any fake niceties or—ugh, _Society_!”

“I should like that very much,” he said, giving her a warm smile.

She scrounged around in the nearby bookshelves and offered him several selections. He chose Walpole’s _The Castle of Otranto_ , a rather florid romance novel, and she gave him a considering look as she passed it to him.

“You are a secret romantic at heart, I think,” she said.

He shrugged one shoulder and seated himself on the settee opposite hers. He glanced at the cover of her book and smirked.

“You’re r-reading the play _She Stoops to Conquer_ , Meg. I think that makes you a secret romantic, as well.”

Meg glowered at him, but without malice. “You know,” she said, coming to a sudden realization. “Your stutter is much improved when it is just the two of us.”

He had a cautious expression on his face. “It is w-w-worse if I am anxious,” he said.

The implications of his statement suggested that he felt entirely comfortable in her presence. She felt this, too, though she said nothing. She simply did her best to read her novel and not dwell on what that might actually signify, if not friendship.

Mrs. Jennings reappeared with a servant in tow, bringing tea. She glanced at the pair of them happily reading away on separate couches and simply shook her head. It was the oddest courtship she had yet experienced in all her years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wheeeeee don't mind me, just having fun over here. Leave some love in the comments!


	6. The Wood Nymph

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We were playmates as children, Miss Dashwood," the lovely girl responded. She gave Ed a fond smile and excused herself momentarily to speak with a passing friend. 
> 
> "She looks like a wood nymph from a Greek myth," Meg said, stuffing an entire biscuit into her mouth.

Meg wrote a letter home to her mother and each of her sisters, and she was suddenly struck with an overwhelming sense of homesickness. She had been in London for nearly five days, and much as she was enjoying the time she was able to spend with Ed, she desperately missed Barton Cottage.

“Are you alright?” Ed asked one morning.

She was riding in his curricle, and much as she enjoyed the pleasure of watching him handle the horses and the breezy sunshine, she could not hide her subdued spirits.

“It is simply that I am wishing to be home soon. Not that I am unhappy here,” she placed a hand on his arm to arrest any thoughts that might arise as a result of her first statement.

“You’re hhh-homesick,” he said. He turned and met her gaze briefly. “Me, too,” he admitted with a smile.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she said. “I must say, my trip to London has improved considerably since you appeared, but there is nothing quite like _home_.”

He nodded in agreement and brought the curricle up outside her London lodgings.

“Are you attending the K-King party this evening?”

Meg sighed. “No doubt. I am sure I have not missed a single function these past five days.”

“I will see you tonight, then,” he said.

Ed hopped down from his curricle and stepped around it to help Meg down from the opposite side. She had been informed by Mrs. Jennings that “a lady does not let herself down from a carriage. She must always alight on the hand of a gentleman.” Despite the fact that it was only her good friend Ed, she had grown used to the habit.

He extended his hand to her, and she was assisted to the sidewalk. She felt as though he gripped her hand a millisecond longer than was necessary, and she suddenly grew uneasy.

“Goodbye, Ed,” she said abruptly and turned on her heel rather unceremoniously.

She glanced back once to see him giving her a bemused smile before departing.

Meg found her hostess enjoying mid-morning tea, and she was grateful to partake as the wind had been a bit too bracing that morning.

“How was your ride, my dear?” Mrs. Jennings said. She had that smug, knowing smile on her face once more.

“It was pleasant,” Meg responded, helping herself to several biscuits.

“I see,” the woman responded, her lips pinched with a barely concealed grin.

Meg finished her tea and excused herself to her room to change. She was unsure how to adequately put the woman’s assumptions to rest. She and Ed were just friends.

The afternoon waned, and suddenly it was time to enter into a flurry of activity before departing for yet another social function. Her only saving grace was the hope that she would only have to endure a few more days of London Society before returning home.

Mrs. Jennings disappeared to ensconce herself with some of the other older ladies, and Meg went in search of her friend. She encountered Mr. Callaghan once more, and again engaged her for the first dance. She obliged, but only out of necessity.

At last, she found Ed who was—talking with a young woman. She was quite pretty. Alarmingly pretty, in fact, and Meg hesitated before approaching.

“Good evening, Lord Barrett,” she said, curtseying to him and eyeing the woman beside him with great interest.

“M-Margaret Dashwood, th-this is Grace Parker,” he said. “She is an acquaintance from R-Richmond.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Meg said. “How do you know each other?”

“We were playmates as children, Miss Dashwood," the lovely girl responded. She gave Ed a fond smile and excused herself momentarily to speak with a passing friend. 

"She looks like a wood nymph from a Greek myth," Meg said, stuffing an entire biscuit into her mouth.

Ed seemed to consider this. "She is quite p-p-petite, to be s-sure."

Miss Parker soon returned, and she immediately spoke in a soft tone to Ed about exclusive subjects from their childhood. Meg was forced to stand to the side and listen in growing annoyance. It was quite rude to talk so specifically that none but the two main participants could enjoy the discussion. 

"Ah, Miss Dashwood," Mr. Callaghan approached, giving Ed a rather wicked side-glance. "I believe you promised me a dance?"

For once, Meg was all too eager to comply. It wasn't as if she didn't wish to share Ed with anyone else. But as she saw Ed leading Miss Parker onto the dance floor, she realized that perhaps this was precisely her problem. Meg was forced to return her attention to her partner as he began to talk to her. And of what else?

“Remember that mare I mentioned? I wonder what you would think of it being named Dashwood.”

Meg at first gave him a noncommittal noise in response, and then as the implications of this sank in, she quickly demurred.

“Why, no, Sir. Indeed, that would be the same as giving a horse the name Speed or Swift. It is almost guaranteed to spell doom for the poor creature.”

“Perhaps you are right, Miss Dashwood,” he agreed, and they were parted for the moment as the dance continued.

Suddenly, she found herself beside Ed, clasping his hand and spinning around him. Meg came to a sudden, sick realization as he drew nearer, his face close to hers as the dance commanded. The full force of it sent her head reeling for several seconds, and she nearly lost her footing.

“Are you alright?” he said, his voice low in her ears.

“Y-yes,” she faltered in her speech and continued the dance in a daze.

The dance parted them, and she was returned to her partner. At last it was over, and she excused herself from Mr. Callaghan to get a moment of fresh air. Meg stole through an open side door and breathed in the cool night air, staring down at the bustling street below.

Meg closed her eyes and tried to reason with herself.

_You are not growing attached to him. He is your friend, and—_

“Are you quite alright, Miss Dashwood?”

She turned and found herself staring at pretty Miss Parker, who was frustratingly the epitome of her first name.

“Quite alright,” Meg managed in a terse reply. “It was growing too stuffy and I simply needed air.”

Grace moved to stand beside her, verbalizing her agreement and commenting on the crisp, coolness of the evening air.

“How long have you known Ed—er, Lord Barrett?” Meg found herself asking.

“Oh, almost my whole life. We are very dear friends,” the nymph replied. “I must confess, he has told me all about you.”

“Has he? He maintains correspondence with you, I gather?” Meg said, finding her throat tightening suddenly.

“Not too often these days, but for a time we wrote to each other regularly.”

Meg grew quiet at this response, and Grace fidgeted slightly beside her.

“I was wondering, Miss Dashwood, if you would be so good as to accompany myself and Lord Barrett to the theater tomorrow evening?”

This took Meg completely by surprise—particularly the implication that Ed and Grace intended to go together regardless of whether or not Meg accompanied them.

“I have longed to go to the theater, but Mrs. Jennings said she was not able to secure a box seat this season,” She mused aloud, considering when she would have another opportunity such as this.

Even if it meant accompanying as a third to two ‘very dear friends,’ she could not turn it down.

She acquiesced to the plan, and Grace insisted they must return indoors and share the good news with Lord Barrett.

“Y-you will like it immensely, Meg,” Ed told her.

“I’m sure I shall,” she replied, having some difficulty meeting his gaze at that moment.

Lord Thomas suddenly appeared, offering a warm greeting to both Grace and Ed (who was incapable of hiding the shock on his face).

“I am calling you to task, Ma’am. I believe I was promised a dance?” he said, holding out his hand.

Meg rolled her eyes and complied, grateful again to have a moment of distraction from her whirling, confused thoughts. She proved to be a distracted partner, and despite Lord Thomas’ attempts at friendly conversation, she gave monosyllabic responses.

“I do believe you are in love, Miss Dashwood,” Lord Thomas startled her by saying this into her ear when the steps of the dance brought them together.

Her eyes flashed to his face, her cheeks growing suddenly hot, and she stood on this foot.

He recovered gracefully, but he was heard to chuckle beside her. “Another set-down by the charming Miss Dashwood. I do believe I will regret not calling on you that first day you were here,” he said.

“I am glad you didn’t,” she said, and then swiftly apologized for her impertinence.

He laughed again. “A flush hit!”

The dance at last concluded, and she thanked him.

He bowed over her hand and said, “You are remarkable, Margaret Dashwood. I don’t believe I’ll encounter another woman quite like you, but I shall take your set-downs with me. Perhaps they will humble me after all.”

She gave him a shy smile, unused to so much praise, and returned to where Ed and Grace were speaking to each other in the corner.

“I believe I’m too tired to continue socializing this evening,” she said, feigning a bit more exhaustion in her voice than she actually felt.

In truth, she felt wired and on edge, and she needed somewhere quiet to talk some sense into her irrational feelings.

Ed gave her a concerned glance but said his farewells as gracefully as usual. He said he would be sending her a note in the morning. She thanked him and offered a word to Miss Parker before turning to leave. Mrs. Jennings was sitting on a bench near the door, and she was, for once, as ready to depart as Meg was.

“By heavens, what a stuffy place!” Mrs. Jennings lamented, pressing one pane of the carriage window open slightly to let in a cool breeze.

Meg found that they were, for once, in agreement on something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems to have done Meg some good to be jealous. I wonder what will happen tomorrow night at the theater...stay tuned! And let me know what you think so far! <3 <3


	7. Spoken For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I have never w-witnessed a speechless Margaret D-Dashwood before,” Ed commented, and she glanced to her right to find him staring at her.

The next day, Meg found herself fidgeting. She had read and reread the note Ed had sent. It simply listed a time and a place, but she had it memorized within the hour. She could hardly keep her attention on her book, and even Mrs. Jennings noticed her restlessness.

“Staring out the window won’t make the hours slip by any faster, my dear,” she said, giving her young charge a sympathetic smile. “You will enjoy yourself this evening, no doubt. I am only sorry that I could not contrive a way for you to experience it sooner.”

Meg was struck by the note of chagrin in her hostess’s voice.

“Do not trouble yourself, Mrs. Jennings,” she said. “I have had a marvelous time, and I have an immense amount of gratitude to you for allowing me to experience so many new things.”

She stopped herself, wishing to say more but noticing that her hostess was growing a touch misty-eyed.

“It is only that you may be the last young lady that I have the privilege of introducing to Society.”

“I wish I had not caused you such trouble,” Meg said, embarrassed by some of her conduct.

“It is forgotten, my dear,” Mrs. Jennings said, reaching out and patting her young charge’s hand with deep affection.

Meg felt a new appreciation for the woman. Yes, she was silly and far too fond of gossip and scandal, but at heart she was a genuinely kind and caring person.

The clock chimed on the mantel, and Mrs. Jennings cried out, “Ah, I do believe it is finally time for you to get ready.”

Meg stood and turned to leave, but she paused and glanced back. “I wonder—would you, perhaps, help me choose my frock for this evening? You have such discerning taste.”

Mrs. Jennings appeared truly touched by this, and they were soon swept up in the flurry of activity that always surrounded an outing.

At last, having been primped and poked with too many hairpins to count, Meg examined herself and discovered that the dark red wrap Mrs. Jennings loaned her was a perfect counterpart to the plain olive muslin. Elinor’s pearl necklace (a true luxury) was the final touch that her hostess had insisted upon, even though Meg had had no plans to use it at all as it was such a dear object.

“Oh, my dear,” Mrs. Jennings said. “You are a picture.”

Meg leaned forward and bestowed a kiss on the woman’s cheek and was at last escorted through the house and into the carriage. She was jostled and jolted along the cobblestones, and it was growing too dark to examine many of the passing buildings, so she was forced to stew in her anxiety.

The carriage came to a halt, and a footman outside the theater helped her down the metal step. There was a crush of people around the front entrance, and for the moment she was too distracted by the elaborate column façade on the towering building in front of her.

“Meg,” a voice said at her elbow, and she turned to find Ed standing quite close.

“Hello,” she said, glancing around. “Where is your wood nymph?”

He gave her an odd little smile. “She is inside.”

Meg accepted his arm and was instantly enamored by the lush red carpet beneath their feet and the gilded paintings lining the main lobby. He took her to a set of stairs and through a wooden door, and she was frozen spellbound on the threshold. Before her was a sizable box seat lined with green velvet curtains, tied to each side with golden rope. But the real gift was the massive theater interior itself. The room was cavernous with large, arched peaks lining the recessed ceiling. Row upon row of box seats lined three walls of the multi-story room, and below was a crush of individuals in the main seating area.

“Do you like it?” Ed said, offering a gentle reminder that she was still standing stock-still in the doorway.

She apologized and allowed herself to be directed into a seat. “It’s just much larger than I imagined,” she said, staring over the bannister and growing dizzy with the height.

The door opened behind them to admit Miss Parker on the arm of a tall, thin gentleman.

“Oh, Miss Dashwood, I am so glad you made it!” Grace said, rushing forward to clasp hands with her. “Let me introduce you to Mr. Moore. We are to be married this Summer.”

Meg was stunned for the second time that evening. “What a pleasure to meet you,” she said, shaking his hand with a rather dazed expression on her face.

Miss Parker and Mr. Moore immediately seated themselves in the same row as Ed and Meg, but Miss Parker drew her chair slightly closer to her intended, thus putting a bit of distance between the two couples.

“I have never w-witnessed a speechless Margaret D-Dashwood before,” Ed commented, and she glanced to her right to find him staring at her.

She was speechless for two reasons, but she only confessed to one. “I’m just—the colors and the chandeliers—and the carvings, oh they are simply marvelous! The ceiling tells its own story, and then you look at the stage and it is just as elaborate and beautiful as the rest.”

Ed smiled and handed her a paper copy of the program for that evening. Meg examined it and turned to him with an accusatory glance.

“‘She Stoops to Conquer.’ Really, Ed!”

He stifled a laugh and shook his head. “I couldn’t resist.”

Suddenly, the curtains were drawn back on the main stage, and a hush fell over the room as the orchestra began to play the overture. Meg felt her breath leave her as the music swelled to fill the entire room.

For the entirety of the first half, she felt as though she was in a trance, transported into the play itself. She laughed until there were tears in her eyes, even though she knew the lines almost by heart. She was disappointed when the curtain fell for intermission, but she realized she was, in truth, parched and a bit hungry. The men departed to retrieve refreshments, which left Grace and Meg alone for the moment.

“When is the happy day, Miss Parker?” Meg asked.

“Two months,” her companion said. “And it feels such an awfully long time, but my grandmother is in poor health, and it is truly impossible for them to make the journey to London any sooner.”

The two of them chatted amiably about the plans for their ceremony, and Meg found she was able to speak quite freely and without resentment. It had truly shocked her just how _relieved_ she was to find out Miss Parker, the graceful wood nymph, was already spoken for. And still, part of her mind refused to accept why this was.

The men returned, each carrying a tray—one loaded with indulgent fruits and biscuits and the other with champagne flutes. They all imbibed and continued their cheerful conversations, until Grace and her intended naturally broke off into their own discussions about the wedding.

Meg found herself, for the moment, unsure what to talk about with Ed.

“When do you leave for home?” he said.

She swallowed a rather indelicate gulp of champagne before responding, “In two days, if you can believe it.”

“So soon?” he said, and she saw regret clear as day on his open features.

“I have been here a week already, and I feel I have gathered my fill of Society for one lifetime.”

He stared down at the half-eaten biscuit in his hand. “I shall m-miss getting to see you so often.”

“Me too,” she said.

He met her gaze and was on the brink of speaking again when the curtains opened to signal the end of the intermission. The crowd below stairs was growing rowdier as wine and champagne flowed freely, and for the remainder of the play, she found herself frustrated with the disruptions. The actors carried on as though nothing were happening, even when one man began yelling out the lines before they were spoken. It was difficult to enjoy the play as much in the second half. She found herself frowning over the bannister, as if her sour face would scare the more unruly audience members into submission.

“J-just ignore them,” he said, and suddenly his hand was atop hers.

She sat back in her seat and did her best to return her attention to the stage. It was, after all, reaching the final scene. It would soon be over, and the enchanting evening would come to a close with it.

Ed’s hand remained where it was, and after several moments of dread and hesitation, she slowly turned her hand over so that their fingers could lace together.

They remained this way until the final moments of the play when they had to part in order to offer heartfelt applause. Meg was entranced once more as the actors came out on stage to receive their well-deserved ovations, but Ed had tapped on her shoulder and indicated that they were making their departure.

She wanted to object, but once in the relative quiet of the hallway, Grace explained, “Once the other attendees begin to leave, it will be impossible to call our carriages and exit in an orderly fashion.”

Meg understood and saw that the street outside was already lined with some of the quality of Society making an early exit as well. Grace pulled Meg into an unexpected embrace before departing with Mr. Moore as their carriage pulled up. Ed kept a tight hold on Meg’s arm, and soon he was pulling her towards a hansome cab. She had never ridden in one, and she found that it had a rather small interior.

“S-sorry,” he said, having to sit pressed against her. “Th-this was all they hhhhad at the last minute.”

“I don’t mind,” she said.

In fact, she found she rather enjoyed sitting so close to him. The cab moved painstakingly through the mad crush of vehicles outside the theater, and she was silently grateful that their short journey might end up being a lengthier one.

“I had a marvelous time, Ed,” she said, venturing to turn and meet his gaze. He was startlingly close at this angle.

In the darkened interior, she could barely make out his features, but his voice betrayed that he was anxious.

“I’m hhhh—happy you d-d-did,” he said, and she could feel a sudden heat radiating from his arm that was pressed against her.

Meg bit her lip, but the words suddenly poured from her. “I have a confession to make.”

“Don’t t-t-tell me you’re engaged to L-Lord Thomas,” he said.

She heaved an overly dramatic sigh. “No, though he did beg for my hand. He crawled towards me on hands and knees, saying he would humble himself by—”

“Yes, _alright_ ,” Ed said with an exasperated tone, though the laugh that followed betrayed his good humor.

“You have to promise not to tease me,” she said.

“Alright.”

“I mean it.”

“I p-promise,” he responded, shifting slightly so he could more easily turn to face her.

“My confession is that I thought you and Miss Parker might have—or were perhaps—what I mean is…well, engaged, I suppose.”

He was silent for a moment. “Why would you say that?”

“Because—well, she is so much prettier and more graceful.”

“Prettier and more graceful than whom?” his perfect clarity of speech was a bit unnerving.

“Prettier than me,” she said at last.

She was only glad the darkened interior kept him from witnessing the furious blush that crept up her neck as she voiced aloud the realization she had been avoiding since yesterday. Ed was silent beside her.

He shifted again, his hand brushing lightly against hers on the seat.

“Meg, were you jealous?”

She let her head fall back against the cushions, feeling mortification through every fiber of her being.

“Yes,” she said at last, so softly that she wondered if he heard her.

“Good hhh—heavens. How do you think I f-felt watching you dance with Mr. Callaghan and Lord Thomas? Especially L-Lord Thomas. Did I not tell you to watch out for rakes? He is one of the most widely known flirts in London, and I should have—”

“Ed,” she said suddenly, turning towards him. “Ed! You felt it, too?”

“Well, yes,” he said, so matter-of-factly that she burst into relieved laughter.

“What does this mean, then?” she insisted.

“It means that I should very much like to write to your mother. If I may.”

“Oh,” she said, the implications of his statement slowly gaining traction in her mind.

“M-Meg?”

She recognized that she had not responded for several moments, and suddenly the cab came to a halt. With a shock, she realized they had arrived at her lodgings. The light from a nearby streetlamp poured through the darkened window and alit on Ed’s face, which was filled with such painful hope that she almost cried at the sight of it.

“Yes,” she said at last, the word leaving her lips in a hoarse exclamation.

He said nothing, but the smile that replaced his anxious expression spilled across the space between them and filled her own face.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” she asked, hearing the cab driver stepping down from his roost.

Soon the door would be opened, and their time would be over. Ed nodded and suddenly reached for her hand and kissed it. She pressed his fingers gently and was on the verge of speaking when the cab door opened.

They exchanged a quick farewell as she was helped out onto the curb, and then his cab driver whipped the horses, and he was gone.

Meg felt light as air as she stepped into her lodgings, wondering if the astute Mrs. Jennings would be able to read the news all over her.

\--

Her hostess could hardly be blind to the change in her young charge’s mood. The next day, she found Meg to be distracted and prone to staring off into nowhere with a soft smile on her face.

“I trust you had a good time at the theater last night, my dear?”

“Oh, the best time,” Meg said in a tone that could only be descried as dreamy.

“That’s delightful,” Mrs. Jennings said, shaking her head slightly at her dazed companion.

After a short time, the door was opened and Foot announced the arrival of Lord Barrett. Meg stood and met him halfway, letting him bow over her hand. He asked, in his unique, faltering way, if she would accompany him to town. She agreed to this and turned to her hostess, who of course complied. Why should she have any objections? It was clear the pair were now inseparable.

Meg ran to her rooms to gather an overcoat and shawl before returning to find Mrs. Jennings and Ed speaking of his home in Richmond. She had offered him a cup of tea, which he had accepted. She was happy to see them chatting amiably, and she joined them at the table to finish the light breakfast she had left unattended.

After a pleasant quarter of an hour, they took their leave and departed. Ed insisted they walk, and Meg was only too happy she had decided to wear her comfortable (if worn and faded) shoes that morning. She happily took his arm, and they continued their discussions of his home.

“So your mother and father live in separate homes? Different countries, even?”

“Yes,” he said, frowning slightly. “My father wished to r-relocate to his family estate and my m-m-mother did not wish to quit hers in Avignon, and so an agreement was never reached b-between them.”

“It is almost as if they are completely separated.”

He nodded. “It is a d-delicate situation but one I fear will never be resolved in mm-my lifetime. They are both shockingly s-stubborn.”

“I suppose you were the peace keeper between them.”

He laughed, “Yes, though my brother and sister were not.”

“I did not know you had a brother and sister!”

He told her of his older brother Julien and younger sister Sophie. They were both married, and between them he had five nieces and nephews.

“They named your siblings Julien and Sophie, and you were stuck with Edmund Francis?”

He laughed, and she was growing to love the sound of it. He directed them to cross the street and made a direct path for the booksellers. Meg was immediately excited. Mrs. Jennings had no interest in reading, so she had not yet visited the store though she longed to. It was a far larger establishment than the one near her home, and she was entranced with the neatly arranged tables with new arrivals.

“Sh-should you like to purchase one?”

Meg searched her reticule and found she had insufficient funds to purchase a copy of William Cowper’s _The Task_. Though she was reluctant, Ed insisted she allow him to buy it for her.

“It is too dear,” she argued.

“N-not for you it isn’t,” he said, taking the book from her hand.

“And you claim you are not stubborn,” she said with a mocking frown.

He smirked and made his way to the counter, leaving Meg to explore the other collections of books. She was too distracted to notice a figure had walked up beside her.

“Good morning, Miss Dashwood.”

She turned, disappointed to find Mr. Callaghan gazing at her. She gave him a lukewarm greeting and returned her attention to the pages of piano sheet music in front of her. Elinor would be entranced with the newest selections.

“I wonder if I can convince you to ride with me this morning,” he said, moving to stand beside her and pretending to observe the piles of paper in front of him.

“Alas, Sir, I am already spoken for,” and here she motioned to Ed, who was in the midst of purchasing the book.

“I see,” the gentleman said, his tone falling flat.

She kept her gaze trained on Haydn’s “Andante for Piano,” which she intended to purchase for her sister.

“I am, in fact, spoken for by this gentleman for the immediate future.”

Mr. Callaghan at last met her gaze, and she could see he was crestfallen. He was not a repulsive gentleman, and truly he had acted toward her with the utmost respect and grace, and for this she was grateful.

“I believe I take your meaning, Ma’am.”

She extended her gloved hand to him, which he bowed over. “Allow me to thank you for your many kindnesses shown to me, Mr. Callaghan. I do hope if I am ever in London that we may again be in each other’s company.”

He offered a polite response but one that signified the event would be highly unlikely.

Ed returned, in time to watch Mr. Callaghan exit the shop.

“That was, at last, the final encounter we shall have with that man.”

“What did you tell him?” Ed said.

“I said I was spoken for.”

“Oh really? B-by whom?”

Meg turned and was tempted to swat at his arm, but she knew this would be improper in public, so instead she gave him a decided frown, to which he flushed slightly.

She used her own funds to purchase a piece of sheet music and an abridged copy of _Tales of Mother Goose_ for Edward and Elinor to read to Mary.

They exited the shop, purchases in hand, and made their way to the nearby park. Ed and Meg conversed on various topics, including his family and unique home situation.

“M-my father passed away several years ago, leaving the b-bulk of hhh—his estate to Julien. He has left me a modest sum.”

She moved to link arms with him, speaking softly so as not to be overheard by passersby. “Would it be immodest of me to ask how much?”

He flushed slightly. “It is merely eight-hundred pounds a year.”

“Eight-hundred!” Meg could not contain her outburst and noticed a passing group giving the pair a curious glance.

She softened her voice and continued. “That is more than twice what Edward and Elinor live off of.” Meg was lost for a moment, considering the type of luxuries that would be afforded with such a yearly sum.

Ed grew self-conscious on the subject of money and wished to discuss other topics.

“Where sh-should you like to live, Meg?”

She considered this a moment. “I have long thought I would remain at Barton Cottage the rest of my days, acting as caretaker for my mother should she become frail. But now,” she squeezed his arm gently, and he met her gaze with a soft smile. “Well, now I shall have to open my mind to other possibilities.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, this was a long one! Thought it was time for Mr. Callaghan to make his final appearance and let Meg and Ed enjoy being unofficially engaged for once. Leave some love in the comments! <3


	8. Home at Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Goodbye, Ed,” she said at last, wishing to say much more.
> 
> “I’ll write s-soon, Meg,” he assured her, dropping her hand at last and turning to leave.

Meg was disappointed that their day had to come to a close, but she supposed she must return to assist with packing her belongings. They were to depart in the morning. On the walk back to her lodgings, she let her hand dangle beside her. Ed did the same, and his knuckles brushed gently against hers.

“Will you write to me?” she said as they reached the end of the last street.

“Of course,” he said. “I hh-have already written to your mother.”

Meg smiled, having no doubt of the positive reply he would receive.

She felt a sudden rush of anxiety. “What about your aunt? Will she approve?”

“I d-do not like my aunt, so I don’t particularly care.”

She could not stifle the laugh that escaped her lips. “That’s awfully gallant of you, Lord Barrett.”

He reached for her hand and again kissed it, as he had the night before. They gazed at one another, having reached the steps of Mrs. Jennings’ lodgings. Neither knew quite what to say, but they knew propriety would not allow them to stand there forever.

“Goodbye, Ed,” she said at last, wishing to say much more.

“I’ll write s-soon, Meg,” he assured her, dropping her hand at last and turning to leave.

\--

Meg gave Mrs. Jennings a warm hug before alighting from the carriage and running down the hill to Barton Cottage. Her mother stepped through the door and pulled her into an embrace.

“Oh, to be home at last!” Meg said, burying her face in her mother’s shoulder and breathing the familiar scent of her faint perfume.

“Come inside, my dear, and tell us everything.” Mrs. Dashwood drew Meg into the quaint home, and she found their parlor was positively bustling with activity.

Elinor, Edward, Marianne, and Colonel Brandon all stood to greet her. Young Henry ran and wrapped his arms around Meg’s legs. Baby Mary and Eliza alternately screeched and wailed, wondering why they were no longer the absolute center of attention.

Meg’s heart was full. Her family was there, and she was at last home.

They pulled up a chair near the fire, as it had grown chilly on their ride home, and foisted cups of tea and fresh slices of bread into her lap while simultaneously insisting she tell them absolutely everything that happened.

Meg filled them in with as many minute details she could recall, from the ridiculous fashions (peacock feathers!) to the strange manners that Society insisted were adhered to. She even told them of Mr. Callaghan’s unwanted attentions and Lord Thomas’s flirtations. And she told them of her time with Ed. Meg was too distracted to catch sight of a knowing glance shared between Elinor and Mrs. Dashwood.

Later, when her voice began to grow hoarse after conveying the delights of the theater, her family began to take their leave, recognizing signs of fatigue in the youngest Dashwood. Meg was again filled with such adoration for her family as she shook hands, embraced, and kissed their cheeks. Henry cried, insisting he get to stay with his aunt, and he was only placated by Meg’s insistence that she would be visiting the next day.

Once the house was empty of all except the residents of Barton Cottage, Mrs. Dashwood took a seat beside her daughter and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“I take you do not regret your time in London, my dear.”

“Not in the least, Mama,” she said, resting her head on her mother’s shoulder. “I even came to respect and care for Mrs. Jennings, if you can believe it.”

Mrs. Dashwood laughed good-naturedly, and the pair fell into a brief lull as they stared into the fire. Maria was heard clattering around in the kitchen as she prepared dinner. Meg was about to offer her assistance when her mother interrupted this thought with an unexpected statement.

“I received a very interesting letter today, Meg.”

“Oh?” her daughter feigned innocence.

“It seems a certain young Lord wishes to marry you.”

Meg felt her cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. “I had not expected the letter to arrive so soon.”

“It appears he paid for the highest postage to ensure it would,” Mrs. Dashwood said, putting her hand on Meg’s shoulder and turning her so they were face to face. “Do you love this young man, Meg?”

Her daughter grew quiet a moment and then slowly nodded her head. “I find that I do, Mama. You said I should seek a partner, and I think I have rather unexpectedly found mine.”

Mrs. Dashwood betrayed a few tears and drew her daughter into a warm embrace. “Then I will wish you both the best happiness possible.”

As promised, Meg made a visit to Delaford, much to the delight of her nephew Henry. Meg found herself preoccupied with the length of time it might take for Ed to receive the letter of acceptance from her mother. To ensure it reached him, she instructed her mother to write identical letters and send them to both the London and Richmond addresses. Henry’s requests for entertainment and endless games of hide and seek provided the precise distraction she needed.

A full week passed, and she found herself increasingly restless when no return letters arrived. She visited Delaford nearly every day, and the days she did not, she was at Elinor and Edward’s home. She particularly enjoyed her visits to their small cottage, as there were always endless chores to take care of. She helped care for the chickens, prepare meals, beat carpets, and even chop wood (though this was a well-kept secret between herself and Edward). When she wasn’t visiting her sisters, she was often walking outdoors (when the weather cooperated) or into town on any excuse, flimsy as it might be.

Another two days passed, and she at last received a letter. She ran into the house and sat before the fire, tearing the wax seal and nearly ripping the pages in her excitement.

_Meg,_

_I apologize for my delay in writing. If I know you well, I’m sure you have been keeping yourself busy. You’ll have to tell me how many times you have walked into town or fed the chickens at your sister’s home._

_This will be a short letter, but if I have timed the delivery of this letter correctly, I highly suggest you visit Delaford at your earliest convenience. I have sent something rather large (with the express permission of Colonel Brandon, of course) that I hope you will enjoy. Consider it a celebration in light of your mother’s approval. She writes so eloquently that I wonder where she might have gone wrong with instructing you in the past…I shall have to tell her you cross your lines terribly._

“The nerve,” she muttered, but she could not suppress the fond smile that filled her face.

_I promise to write you a much lengthier letter once I fulfill a few errands of my own._

_Yours,_

_Lord Edmund Francis Barrett, lately engaged to marry Miss Margaret Dashwood_

Meg wasted no time in following his instructions. She told her mother she wished to visit Delaford, to which her mother merely nodded and told her to be careful. She ran to their closest neighbor’s home, where the owner Antony had graciously offered to house and care for Meg’s horse (a lavish gift from Colonel Brandon) for a nominal fee and with the understanding that he would be pairing the fine stallion with any mares he chose.

She mounted Hermes and was off in a flash to Delaford. And if she arrived a day early, why she would simply state she was there to surprise Henry with an unannounced visit and come again the next day, or until the particular surprise made its appearance. Meg arrived at her destination, and a footman offered to take Hermes for a cool-down walk before returning him to the stables. She thanked him and allowed herself to be announced before entering.

“Why, Meg, it is good to see you again,” Marianne said, embracing her sister. “How many visits has it been this week—four? Five?”

Meg ignored her sister’s teasing and was directed into the drawing room for a refreshing drink of cool lemonade. It was an unseasonably warm and sunny day.

“Henry and Eliza are both down for their naps, but I hope you will stay long enough to surprise them when they wake, especially Henry.”

“Yes, of course,” Meg said, feeling a growing anxiety in her chest as she sipped the tart beverage. “Has anything, perhaps, arrived for me here?” She tried to keep her tone casual, but there was an underpinning of anticipation that was unmistakable.

Marianne sipped at her drink. “Not that I am aware of. Are you expecting something?”

“Perhaps,” Meg said, “but I was not informed what would be arriving, or even when.”

“I see,” her older sister said with a mild expression. “I wonder, Meg, if you might enjoy a walk outside. It is a bit warm, but the shade of the gazebo would be lovely this time of day, and the children won’t be awake for a while.”

Meg sighed, deciding it was, indeed, a better idea than sitting indoors twiddling her thumbs. And perhaps it would distract her from the disappointment at arriving too early for Ed’s surprise. She finished a cucumber sandwich and excused herself while Marianne departed for the music room.

Meg sighed when she exited the home and found the sunshine was doing its small part to raise her spirits. She would simply have to be patient, which she detested. Her feet drew her down a familiar path, and soon she was ensconced in the tall hedge maze. As was her custom for many years, she let her gaze drift upwards to drink in the sight of the slightly obscured sky above.

Suddenly, she crashed into a figure.

“Oh, I do apologize for—” Meg froze. “You’re not the usual gardener.”

“No, I am not,” Ed replied.

She stared at him, dumbfounded that he was standing in front of her.

“I t-take it you are surprised?”

She found her voice at last. “Yes, how _dare_ you!”

“Well, if you’re not hh-happy to see me, I’ll just leave,” he said with feigned indignation.

Meg clasped his hand before he could move away from her.

“Ed, you are sneaky.”

He pressed her fingers. “Are you angry with me?”

She shook her head, tugging on his hand with a soft smile.

“Meg,” he said, and he stepped close to her, putting a hand on her cheek.

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. Meg let out a soft laugh, finding the exercise surprisingly soft and sweet. She had never experienced a kiss. She discovered she quite enjoyed it, especially when he leaned in again and brought his hand to the other side of her face. He explored her lips with great interest, and she wrapped her arms around his neck to draw him closer.

“Ed,” she said between kisses.

“Hmm?” he gave her a distracted response.

“I love you.”

He pulled back and met her gaze with a soft smile on his open features. “Meg, I’ve loved you since you collided with me in this maze.”

“Well, if you hadn’t gotten yourself lost, I wouldn’t have run into you,” she countered.

“And if you had k-kept your eyes at ground level, you wouldn’t have s-s-smacked into me.”

She kissed him this time, soft and sweet and searching. “I’m glad I had my head in the clouds that day.”

“Me too,” he said, spinning her in a circle before she pulled away from his arms and disappeared around a bend in the hedges.

Ed was quick to follow, and she was grateful for the privacy afforded them by the maze as they paused many more times to embrace each other. It was fortunate they did not encounter any gardeners—but she wondered if Marianne had had a hand in this scheme as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the short chapter, but I hope you'll forgive me since the last two were pretty long. So what do you think? Was it the sweet reunion you were waiting for?
> 
> More to come! Ed and Meg have to actually get married and find a place to live now. <3


	9. Unwelcome and Unnanounced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She laughed. “And what of you? Shall I go on about your strong shoulders or the way I can read every expression on your handsome face?”
> 
> He flushed and leaned closer. “And what does my face say now?”

“What did your aunt say when you wrote to her?” Meg said, unable to contain her curiosity.

“I d-did not wait for her reply,” he said, pressing her hand gently.

“And your siblings?”

“Oh, they were ecstatic. Like my aunt, I b-believe they had given up hope. They are anxious to meet you.”

Meg considered this a moment, readjusting her seat atop Electra. The gelding he normally rode had thrown a shoe, so he was atop her horse Hermes. The stallion was not too pleased with this arrangement and occasionally tried to nip at Electra’s tail out of jealousy.

“Meg, I have also asked Colonel Brandon about hhh-homes in the area that might be available.”

She fixed him with a surprised glance. “You are willing to uproot and live here?”

“Anywhere you are is home, Meg,” he said, as if this idea should have occurred to her.

Meg brought Electra close to Hermes and was in the process of leaning over to bestow a kiss on her betrothed when Hermes took a notion and kicked his hoof at the mare, sending Electra bolting forward. Meg brought the mare to a swift halt and decided it was best to dismount if she wished to show Ed any sort of affection. Hermes was simply not having it.

“If you are amenable, w-we can visit some homes today,” he said, sharing a laugh as Hermes refused to move a step forward despite being spurred by Ed’s boot.

Meg quickly agreed to these plans, and despite Hermes being one of the swiftest horses, his stubbornness was proving to be a roadblock to their plans. They summoned his groom Daniel who swapped Hermes for the chestnut gelding (whom Ed had dubbed Marlow, a character from Meg’s favorite play, _She Stoops to Conquer_ ). Meg ran inside to notify her sister and brother-in-law of their plans so they would not be missed for lunch.

With a more agreeable pair of horses, and with Daniel’s accompaniment, they departed towards their first destination. Ed encouraged her to pause on the hill, and the pair of them examined the slightly neglected home below them.

“Is that roof crooked?” Meg said, tilting her head slightly.

Ed mimicked this motion, as did Daniel, and the groom was the first to speak.

“I suppose it isn’t if we all turn our heads this way,” the groom commented with a soft chuckle.

“Well, we shouldn't rule it out immediately,” Ed said, spurring Marlow down the long drive.

Meg did enjoy the way the mature silver birch trees grew in beautifully straight lines along the drive, and they discovered the home was surrounded by a variety of trees, giving it a closed-in sensation. She enjoyed the intimacy and privacy of the location.

“Does it have a name?” Meg said, staring up at the stone home as they approached.

“H-Hollotree,” Ed replied.

“An unusual name,” she said and asked if they were permitted to explore inside, to which Ed nodded with an eager smile.

Daniel agreed to watch over the horses while the pair entered the darkened interior. Meg stumbled her way through the front hallway, finding a nearby window and pulling back a pair of dust-caked curtains to allow light to enter.

“It’s a bit f-faded,” Ed admitted. “But it has g-good bones, as my father would say.”

“Did he take an interest in homes?”

“H-he enjoyed fixing up neglected houses.”

Meg gave her betrothed a considering glance. “That’s an odd hobby for a Lord, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he said. “M-my mother did not approve. Especially when he involved me and my siblings in his projects.”

Meg found herself wondering what Ed would look like with a hammer in his hand, his sleeves rolled up and a touch of perspiration on his brow—and she stopped herself short of continuing such a dangerous fantasy.

She cleared her throat and moved to the next room, which was a small drawing room.

“I never did ask…what sort of Lord are you?”

“I’m a baron,” he said, his tone dismissive of the title.

She turned to him with wide eyes. “Well, that would make me a baroness. You did not tell me this!”

He shrugged one shoulder. “It’s not as impressive as an earl.”

She put a hand on her hip. “I could always go back and pursue Lord Thomas. I’m sure my ‘country manners’ would charm him enough to ask for my hand.”

Ed approached her suddenly pulled her into his arms. “I will not allow it.”

She pretended to consider for a moment, thankful the darkened interior hid the blush that filled her cheeks. “I suppose Baroness Margaret does have a nice ring to it.”

He leaned forward and kissed her gently, which she returned eagerly. Meg would have enjoyed continuing this endeavor, but her curiosity to explore overtook her longing for Ed—at least for the moment.

They wandered through each room and discovered a few places where the roof had actually caved in slightly, allowing moisture to leak onto the beautiful hardwood floors.

“Is it too damaged?” she said, wrinkling her nose at the musty, damp smell of the room.

Ed retrieved a forgotten fire poker and reached up to jab at the most damaged portion of the wooden beams. It seemed to let something loose, and suddenly a portion of it collapsed and sent a torrent of brackish water onto Ed’s head.

He turned back to her and said in a matter-of-fact tone, “I am not sure about this one…”

Meg could only laugh at the sorry state of his hair and shirt. He began to tease her, running after her and threatening to embrace her so she could share in his misfortune.

They exited the home, and Daniel took one look at his master and bit back a grin.

“I take it this home does not meet your standards?” the groom said.

“Not exactly,” Ed said, removing twigs and moldy leaves from his hair and shirt collar.

He spied a small pond in the back portion of the dilapidated gardens and excused himself. Meg moved to stand beside the fidgety Electra and put most of her attention on soothing the energetic mare. From the corner of her eye, she watched as Ed removed his shirt and tossed water across his brow and collarbone to remove the worst of the grime. Meg turned to hide the flush that filled her face at the sight of his partially unclothed form. She was pleased with what she saw and was startled by the physical response this stirred in her stomach.

Ed rejoined the group, having returned his shirt and vest to his person, and she suddenly found she enjoyed the sight of his slightly damp, slicked-back hair. Meg was suddenly grateful for the countenance afforded them by the presence of young Daniel.

Ed put himself at the head of the group and showed them to another home. It was not as secluded, but what it lacked in volume of trees, it made up for with two massive sweet chestnut trees in the back lawn. Meg was instantly intrigued with the possibilities of a tree house, or simply the pleasure of climbing the branches. These pleasures would be irresistible to children.

Again, Meg was startled by her thoughts. She had spent so many years of her young life convincing herself she had no interest in marrying, and here she was pining after her betrothed and even daydreaming of having children someday.

“This home is called Stoneleigh, I believe,” Daniel supplied as they approached the house.

It was in far better condition that Hollotree, and when they entered, Meg found she couldn’t contain the daydreams that flooded her mind of hosting family gatherings in the sizable drawing room, or turning the sitting room into a playroom.

“It will need a few updates, but what do you think of it, my love?” Ed joined her at the window and rested his hand against her upper arm.

Meg turned and, without warning, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. He stepped back, slightly startled by her ardent response, but he was soon reciprocating with such sweet, tender embraces that she lost herself in this endeavor for a few moments.

“I t-take it you are pleased,” he said, his eyes wide and his face expressing pleasant surprise.

“I adore this home,” she said.

“Then it will be yours.” He pulled her against him once more, and she delighted at the sensation of his hands moving gently against her waist and back.

\--

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of activity as the wedding planning began—but simultaneously, they had to prepare their new home and make it fit for them to occupy. Stoneleigh proved to be sturdy and only needed a few minor updates (which Ed oversaw himself, and Meg was incredibly proud of her betrothed). He would not allow her to see the home until it was completed, and though she asked him questions, he remained frustratingly reticent.

“You will not even allow me to select the furniture for our home? Or the arrangement of each room?”

Ed shook his head. “You are to leave all of that to me, my love.”

Meg was tempted to pull him in for another kiss—perhaps his use of the sweet nickname spurred her into this behavior. She was forced to refrain, however, as they were in the front sitting room at Delaford with her mother and nephew close by.

“I have a surprise for you that I hope you will l-like,” he said.

“You have to tell me!” Meg demanded. “I can’t bear the waiting.”

“You shall simply have to,” he said, turning his attention back to his book with irritating resolution.

Meg found she was too distracted to dwell on this any further as the wedding plans came into full force. She was at last fitted with a dress, and the final arrangements were made for the arrival of extended family members and friends. It was merely one day till the wedding, and Meg was in the midst of assisting her sister Marianne with arranging the guest rooms at Delaford when an unexpected and unannounced guest arrived. A distracted and flushed Meg was called downstairs while Marianne was summoned to tend to a fussy baby Eliza.

Meg was announced in the front sitting room, and she found herself staring at an unfamiliar woman. She gave her best curtsey, and the older woman frowned, eyeing her critically.

“How do you do, Ma’am?” Meg said when the woman remained silent.

She discovered the woman was well dressed and had her gray locks arranged in the latest fashion. If she had known to expect a guest such as this, Meg might have taken more care to remove the dust from the hem of her dress and rearrange her hair, which had fallen into a mess of frizzy curls around her neck. As it was, the woman continued to study her with narrowed eyes.

“Are you Margaret Dashwood? Yes, of course, you must be. Why else would you enter in such a state?”

Meg was taken aback. “I do apologize, Ma’am,” and here she faltered, realizing she still had no idea who this woman was or even her name.

“I was helping my sister to arrange and clean the guest rooms. We are expecting several people from out of town for the wedding,” Meg added.

“Yes, that is _quite_ apparent,” the woman said, pointing to the filthy state of Meg’s hands. “Take a seat, girl. I do not wish to stand on my arthritic knees all day.”

Meg’s eyes widened at the imperious tone but obeyed. As the woman again fell silent, she found herself at a loss as to what she should say.

“I am sure you were not expecting me,” the woman said at last, her eyes glancing around the room with a disapproving air.

“No, indeed, Ma’am. Are you—?”

“Why, I am sure not, as I had to learn of this entire affair from the mouth of my niece.”

The pieces finally fell into place.

“You are Ed’s aunt,” Meg said with sudden realization.

The woman’s frown deepened. “I do not approve of the casual way in which you refer to my nephew but then,” she sighed, “I suppose that is expected from country people who have no sense of gentility or manners.”

“I—I beg your pardon?” Meg said, her face growing hot.

“You should be aware that I am not in agreement with Edmund’s flight of fancy. If you two are to wed, you shall not inherit one penny of—”

“Excuse me, Ma’am,” Meg said, suddenly rising to her feet. “I am under the impression that Ed’s money is not tied to you, nor is it under your control. He has been willed his inheritance directly from his father. Further, you speak of gentility and manners, and yet I have not learned your name.” She breathed quickly, willing the boiling fury in her stomach into submission.

After a brief moment, during which the woman stared at her in stunned silence, Meg at last said, “Allow me to thank you for making such a long journey. I am sure it was tiresome for you, and I do hope you will accept an offer of a room in my sister’s house. The wedding is to take place tomorrow, and you are welcome to attend should you wish. But you are mistaken if thinking that your censorious and unkind words will sway myself or Ed from our decision. Thank you.”

Meg curtseyed and quickly departed, not bothering to glance back at the unwelcome guest. She paused only once to give instructions to the nearest servant that if the woman wished, she may obtain a room in the home but otherwise she should be seen out at once.

Without pausing to speak to the grooms in the stable (none of them were surprised by her impulsive behavior, having known her since she was a young girl), Meg mounted Hermes and galloped across the fields. Her anger spurred her faster, kicking the stallion into a full gallop. She reached Elinor and Edward’s cottage in what felt like mere moments.

Edward greeted her first, and she wordlessly handed Hermes’ reins to him. He understood her perfectly, taking the panting and sweating stallion for a cool down walk. Meg entered the cottage, and Elinor took one look at her sister’s disheveled state and tear-streaked face and led her to the small sitting room where Ed was reading. She left the pair alone as Mary began to wail in the other room.

Ed stood to his feet immediately and pulled her into an embrace.

“What is the m-matter? H-hh-has something happened?”

“Your aunt—” she began, fighting back a sob. “She came all this way to tell me she disapproved. And I was unkind in return, Ed. Oh, I am so sorry!” she could fight back the tears no longer.

He soothed her by patting her back and speaking softly, drawing her down to the chair beside him.

“My aunt is a deeply unhappy woman, Meg. I told you I do not care for her opinion.”

Meg sniffed, accepting the offer of his handkerchief. “But she is still family.”

“Hardly,” he said.

She glanced up and found he had a wry smile on his face.

“She was married to my father’s late brother. She is not a blood relative.”

Meg felt somewhat relieved by this.

“I am still shocked she came all this way.” He asked her to tell him what was said between them, and despite her embarrassment, he suddenly burst into laughter.

“Do not tease!” she said, swatting his arm. “I feel horrible! It was so unkind and rude of me to speak so freely to her.”

“I have n-never once been able to stand up to her as you have just done. And you even offered her a room for the night. It will no doubt have insulted her and shamed her for the unkind words she said to you.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I am only sorry you had to endure her company for even a m-minute.”

She sniffed, feeling a bit better about the entire affair.

“Meg,” he said, turning her face towards him and wiping at the last stray tear on her cheek. “It does not change my resolve one ounce. We will soon be married and in our new home.”

She accepted his kiss and pulled back to say, “And where did you manage to find our furniture?”

“I found it through—” he paused. “You s-sneak! You will not wheedle the information out of me, no matter how beautiful you look just now.”

She frowned at him. “Puffy eyes and a running nose are not particularly attractive.”

Ed shook his head. “Soon I will be your husband and you will _have_ to accept compliments from me no m-matter what.”

She laughed. “And what of you? Shall I go on about your strong shoulders or the way I can read every expression on your handsome face?”

He flushed and leaned closer. “And what does my face say now?”

Meg studied him, finding there was a new sort of desire in his eyes as he clasped his hands behind her back.

“It says that I better return to Delaford before we disgrace ourselves,” she said, pressing a finger to his lips before he could steal another kiss.

He pulled her towards him in a hug.

“Tomorrow,” he said.

“Tomorrow,” she agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? Where is the wedding? And the wedding night?? Follow me to Part 3 of this series (and to a higher-rated maturity level...) for the next part of the story! <3


End file.
